


Distant Stars

by kjstark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (Like really really slow), Air Force, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, Light Angst, M/M, Military Backstory, Multi, POV Bucky Barnes, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjstark/pseuds/kjstark
Summary: In a world where a name on your wrist defines who you're destined to be with, James Rhodes finds himself in a bit of a pickle, when he finds that his mark not only comes five years later than it is supposed to but it has only one name: his own.He will befriend campus prodigy Tony Stark who shares a similar fate as his own — he, too, doesn't have a mark by the time he turns 18. But that comes to an end, several years later, when one Captain America is found and awakens from his 70 years sleep, now carrying a familiar last name on his wrist.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Bang for A Buck (But We Were Never Good at Clichés)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727576) by [zhenger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhenger/pseuds/zhenger). 



> A few things you should know before heading into this:
> 
>   1. This work is heavily inspired by the work I mention above; I was incredibly lazy in the process of explaining the way the Soulmate Marks are embraced or are seen generally in this AU but you should assume it’s exactly as it does in that work I mention. Read it first if you may, it’s absolutely fantastic and even though it’s still a WiP it’s far better than anything I’ll write down here.   
> 
>   2. English isn’t my first language and I don’t/never have lived in the United States, everything I point out or write I’ve collected from some arguably extensive research and asking people I know who live there
>   3. In that same thought, I know next to nothing about ROTC, joining the military or MIT -- again, I tried to do my best with Google so if there’s anything off, feel free to point out and I’ll have it checked. 
>   4. This work will switch intermittently between SteveTony and BuckyRhodey (it was, originally, gonna focus primarly on the latter one but somewhere along the line I realized I had actually written more about Stony, but still, they won’t be the sole focus); other background ships will be shown but I won’t make much promises as in how much I’ll invest in them. 
>   5. Lastly, none of this would’ve been posted if it wasnt for the amazing help I got from my beta readers [Shirokou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirokou), [WingMoon ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingMoon)and  [ Cy ](https://cockringhoratio.tumblr.com/). You guys rock and I’ll never thank you enough. Any remaining mistake is on me. 
> 


_Philly, 1978_

Jimmy runs up the stairs before his parents can see him cry. His Pops never likes it, says Jimmy’s not supposed to let the world see him crack (“Because they’re like sharks, boy, when they smell blood, they’ll come for more”) and his Momma’s always protective and embarrassing, thinking Jimmy can’t stand on his own.

And he has stood his own, but this is the third time in the week they make fun of his old, favorite backpack and the fact that he can answer all the questions in his math test. It’s not his fault they’re all stupid, but Chad moved away last summer and Jimmy didn’t think getting new friends should be this hard — and now Yolanda is going through a phase and keeps ignoring him when he waves her in the hallway.

He sneaks up the stairs to the rooftop of the apartment picking on the lock of the fire escape door, easy, like he’s done it since he was eight, and tilts his head over the edge, on his tiptoes, to look at all of Point Breeze’s quiet night.

Even standing on the top of the ten-story building, Jimmy feels small, just a tiny space in a universe infinite times larger. One last tear helplessly rolls down his cheek and he decides it’s time to let go. He will have to do without his backpack or the sharks will get more vicious. He will make new friends even though everybody in 5th grade is mean and phony.

Jimmy looks up to the dark, deep sky and sighs. ‘ _I bet there’s no mocking up there’_ , he thinks. _‘Just fresh air and quietness’._

Someday, Jimmy will touch the sky.

Someday, he will be up there, in the clouds, untouchable.

 _‘Please,’_ he pleads a star-less dark blueness.

* * *

 

“Shit, Jimmy, this some sweet spot you got here,” Mickey says, the illicitly-acquired six-pack hangs loosely off his left hand.

“It’s only sweet at nighttime, dude. You come here at 2 PM on a sunny day and you’ll get the tan of your life,” he jokes, taking two bottles at once and flipping them open.

“Dude, I’ll take a nice ass tan before being in my house one more minute any day,” he tells Jimmy before taking one of the bottles from him and clicking it with the one Jimmy was holding. Jimmy pretends he doesn’t see the faint bruise on Mickey’s cheekbone and instead sips on his beer. He’s learned not everybody has a nice household.

Jimmy doesn’t ask and Mickey doesn’t share. They sit on some retractable chairs Jimmy got from the trash and repaired and talk until sunrise about Star Wars. “I’m gonna be a pilot, someday,” Jimmy says, staring at the sky, tongue rolling lazy in his mouth.

“Really? A rebel pilot?” Mickey cracks, way drunker.

Jimmy kicks him on the foot. “No, you dumbass, a real pilot,” he explains.

“Ain’t you gotta be smart for that shit?”

“I _am_ smart—,”

“Yeah, no, but like, crazy smart, like, _astronaut_ smart,” Mickey says and Jimmy stops to stare at him, frowning.

“No,” he answers, wrinkling his nose.

“Alright, whatever, man. Hope you make it,” Mickey adds, before raising his remaining beer for Jimmy to click with his.

\--

“Yo, Jim,” Glenn shouts from the other end of the hallway. Jim turns and waves and watches as his friend runs towards him. “So, did you get it?”

Then he remembers. “Shit. Gotta go,” Jim says before running back home to where the fate of his future awaits.

Jim takes the mail out of Jeanette’s hands with a swift motion and ignores his little sister’s ‘Hey!’.

“Shut up, this is important,” he shushes her and she sticks her tongue out.

Jim spots the Air Force R.O.T.C. logo and his heart does a flip. “Dear James Rhodes, contact your Air Force ROTC detachment to schedule your meeting interview for your scholarship application”, reads the important bit and Jim does not feel like crying.

“So, d’you get it?” Jeanette asks, batting her eyelashes, trying to read his letter.

“Not yet but I will,” Jim says.

And a couple of months later, he does.

It is the biggest milestone of his life and Jim, with his great grades and clean history and athletic damn-near perfection, knows life couldn’t get any better. He’d get to make his dream come true, hopefully have a successful career and provide for his family, hell, _serve_ his country, do some actual good in the world.

That’s all the plan he’d set up for himself ever since he was a little kid.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself when the clock ticks 12AM and there’s no name on his wrist. 

Jim gets out of the bathroom with a tug on his heart and he’s not even sure why, it’s not like he spent much time obsessing over this simple, biological human event. But feeling left out most of his childhood and teenage years, Jim expected his early-adulthood to be ordinary, relatable.

Now he was gonna have to walk the earth alone, until he died.

Another freak of nature that destiny had decided to spare the burden of having a —perfect— piece to complete the puzzle. Jim was gonna have to leave this world incomplete, with a hole.

What a shitty way of spending one’s 18th birthday.

* * *

 

_Cambridge, 1986_

He’s not Jimmy or Jim anymore, now he’s ‘Rhodes’. Couple of months into the semester —at MIT, no less, because God squeezes but he doesn’t choke and since the universe fucked him over, they’re re-setting their karma by giving him have nearly everything worth in life. Except a damn soulmate. — and he’s already learned his way through the crowds, made a few friends here in this class and there in this Wing.

It’s by the third semester that he realizes he’d been wrong this whole time; he thought the lack of a surname on his body meant he was broken beyond repair, straight out of love, finished, but that was just a big capitalistic monster of publicity trying to sell you their sixteenth blockbuster on soulmates post-apocalyptic love stories.

He knows he’s capable of loving because Carol looks at him with her bright blue eyes and flips him over when he gives her shit after a PT’s and there’s no other thing he can call it.

Especially not when she kisses him unprecedented, like she’s just saying hello.

Being with her is like flying –not that he has yet, not outside of a simulator, but that’s exactly how Jim thinks flying feels like: sheer liberty, breeze, complete joy, the perfect amount of excitement and vertigo. Rhodes has been with other women before, about a handful of them, but none of them made him feel like his feet were off the ground. Not like Carol Danvers.

Which is why when she confides him with the ‘Jessica Drew’ on her wrist, Jim feels an entire different kind of heartache.

It’s one thing to never have had a soulmate, but then to make one of your own just for them to be taken away? Someone was definitely having a sick ride twisting his life around.

“Rhodes, that’s not important, c’mon. It’s not like I even know her or have time to search for her,” Carol explains and Jim figures that makes sense. But he knows that’s not fair, for himself or for her. He’s wasting time on someone who’s not meant for him and she’s wasting time on someone like him.

But Carol lays a hand on his face and Jim feels like he’s sinking three floors down to a deeper hell. The ever-present voice of reason in his mind makes itself known. ‘ _This is a band-aid case. It’s better if you just rip it now and rip it quick’_.

It’s not a breakup but it hurts like two.

At least there’s enough on both of their plates for it not to be too awful or too awkward — Jim silently thanks the Lord for that, he still has a few more years to spare here.

\--

He isn’t sure at which point ‘Rhodey’ began to mean him and he isn’t sure how either. The Stark kid operates in mysterious ways and he’s not about to start trying to understand what goes through that mountain of genius and hair gel.

They kick off almost immediately, Rhodey’s having a hard time trying to remember the last time he made a friend so fast but he’s coming up empty. At only sixteen (‘Bordering on seventeen, mind you, sugarbear’), Tony was pure excitement and rush, an explosion of creativity and hyper-activeness; all curled up into a 5’2 ball of glasses and daddy issues. 

And Rhodey actually has a younger sister back home, but he’s always wanted a little brother, too. So he dusts off Tony’s knees when he falls —and _boy_ , does he fall—, accepts the ridiculous nickname as his own and gets himself a platonic soulmate, because _those_ he can do a damn thing about.

Tony jokes about getting ‘Rhodey’ tattooed on his back in January but when he turns 18 in May, ‘James Rhodes’ appears clean on his left shoulder-blade and that makes him not dwell much on the fact that nature screwed him over too.

“Hey, guess you’re not alone anymore, sour-patch,” Tony says, tilting his head to give Rhodey a genuine smile. There’s a faint hint of sadness on his big, puppy brown eyes but Rhodey gets it, he’s been there. For all the things they wanted to be extraordinaire, they also wanted to belong sometimes.

But, “Yeah, at least you got me,” Rhodey tells him, a hand on his shoulder. Tony smiles widely and his eyes shine behind the huge black glasses.

\--

_MIT Campus, 1991_

Tony takes a gulp of bourbon like it's his morning coffee and Rhodey closes the Docs file, his friend has to go back home for the holidays and nothing sets Tony on edge like having to return to his household, so Rhodey figures his thesis can wait.

“You know I did some digging in our little cases and we're part of a 12% statistics of people who have no name on their wrists. Apparently, there are big support groups and communities,” Tony shares staring at the ceiling, Rhodey takes a big sip and burps quietly. “You think we should try to join any?” he asks and Rhodey shakes his head.

“I think that would give our situations like three more layers of pathetic-ness,” Rhodey says.

“I mean, I don't know, Rhodey. You ever think about them?” Tony asks and Rhodey just quirks one eyebrow. They don’t really talk about them and their lack of a soul mate mark, not since the entire month following Tony’s 18th birthday – where he got drunk to swallow his sorrows about how he wasn’t worth loving and how he was a fool for letting himself think otherwise (“Not even my own dad loves me, man, why would anyone else?”) – but the questions and ghosts of inner battles linger around them whenever they're sad or quiet or thoughtful. “Your soul mates?” Tony adds as if Rhodey didn’t go to the same Aerospace Engineering class he does and was just two points below him on IQ.

“I don’t have a soul mate, Tony,” he says, it doesn’t sting anymore. It's just a fact.

Tony shakes one hand. “No, but listen, there’s another idiot out there who doesn’t have a soulmate mark either. People who are in square one like us. Who’s to say they’re not the ones meant for us but somebody up there fucked up terribly?” he asks and Rhodey's drank a little too much already and Tony's little hypothesis makes his head spin.

So he just shrugs, not buying into it, and takes another sip. He repeats the cycle every four minutes and at one point he just lets the bed sink him further. Tony's already drooling into his cushion, down his fourth dream.

‘ _I hope you’re feeling better than I do,_ ’ Rhodey sends a prayer to a soulmate who doesn’t exist.

* * *

 

_Siberia, 1991_

He's not taken a proper breath before hands are all over him, manhandling him. The facility looks different, it always does. Sometimes it’s cold, some other times it’s colder. He’s stopped wondering by the third decade, and for all he knows this might already be the fourth one.

“желание,” this handler says, and he wants to say that’s not necessary but a breath gets caught up in his throat.

They will do whatever they want anyways.

They always do.

“ржaвый,” the handler nearly spits. He stares back with a twist of his neck. It's fun when he puts up a fight but he doesn’t have the energy to now.

“Семнадцать,” he speaks again, barely a beat after the last one. The knife in his gut twists in its phantom place but his nerves are broken, fried.

“Рассвет,” he doesn’t feel anything. “Печь,” the handler adds, not a single second wasted.

The lights turn off. He's long gone, back in a place he doesn’t know in a time he doesn’t remember.

“Девять.” He just wishes it felt like resting, like quiet death.

“добросердечный.” He just wishes it felt like anything other than absolute, piercing numbness.

“возвращениенародину.” He curls up in a ball in a dark corner in his brain and finds no shelter. He never does but he always tries.

“Один,” the handler sighs, like he’s tired too. He twists the hand into a fist and waits the final switch to go off.

The final dagger to go into his shattered scraps of a soul.

“грузовойвагон.”

The fist uncurls and softens in the cuffs that chain him to the chair. “Good morning, soldier.”

“Ready to comply,” he says in a voice that used to be his.

\--

_MIT campus, 1991_

Rhodey wakes up panting, breathless. His heart's racing, vibrating inside his ribcage. He sits up and puts a hand on his chest, trying to ground himself. Steady himself back to normal.

Must’ve been one of hell of a nightmare. Rhodey's thankful he can’t remember it for shit.

He stands up and looks around his dorm. No sight of Tony, at least until he spots the little white sheet attached to U.

 _‘William came to pick me up for the ride back home. Call me as soon as you wake up so I don’t lose my sanity while I’m there. -T_.S'

Rhodey rubs the back of his neck, tired and numb from the odd position he fell asleep in. He decides showering is a priority.

There’s a nauseating feeling deep in his gut all the way up his throat but he's certain it’s the hangover, though he didn't really drink all that much.

He takes off his pants and boxer briefs with lazy patience, and then goes for his long-sleeved shirt. One arm first then the other and he goes into the shower with his eyelids half-way down.

Rhodey lets the water roll down his face to his body, wash all over him and smooth the weird aching in his chest off. He rubs himself with soap, his body, his face. He gives himself a little massage on his head and rubs his eyes one more time, shaking off the sleepiness.

But when he opens them, he thinks he’s still dreaming.

On his wrist, right above his veins, five years late, a name appears.

He runs to the toilet to throw up but that’s definitely on the hangover, not the shock.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony steps out of the limo metaphorically dragging his entire being across the ground. The four hours’ drive back to Manhattan did nothing to ease his nerves, nothing to undo the anxious knot in his gut.
> 
> At least he was old enough to drink now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Tony canonically graduated from MIT at 17, but that math didn't work with what I wanted or found reasonable so I hope you can move past that little canon-bend.

_Manhattan, 1991_

Tony steps out of the limo metaphorically dragging his entire being across the ground. The four hours’ drive back to Manhattan did nothing to ease his nerves, nothing to undo the anxious knot in his gut.

At least he was old enough to drink now.

“Master Anthony,” Jarvis greets him with his tender eyes and slightly curved stance as he opens the door for him. Tony gives him a hug that lasts longer than usual and then lets go of him to fix the wrinkles he left on Jarvis’ suit.

“I’ve missed you, Jarvis,” he says, genuinely. Nobody makes a cookies and cream milkshake as mean as his family’s butler does.

“As have I, sir,” he adds, smiling back.

Tony enters the house and leaves his MIT hoodie on the coat rack and takes off his sneakers. “Hey, Jarvis, has anyone called me today?” he asks, remembering the note he left for Rhodey back on campus.

“I believe not, sir,” Jarvis answers, following his tracks.

Tony peeks out the living room and finds it empty. “So, where’s everybody?”

“Your mother is out, finishing her Christmas shopping before the trip—,”

“Trip? What trip?” he asks, entering the kitchen.

“Your father decided to take your mother on a holiday trip. They should be leaving tomorrow afternoon,” Jarvis explains, trying not to let his voice sound sad for Tony’s benefit.

But Tony smiles bitterly. “So, I come home to visit and they leave. Fantastic,” he says, looking down.

“Master Tony…”

“No, Ed, it’s fine. They deserve it, right? I mean, when was the last time Dad took Mom anywhere nice? This is good for them,” he tells him. Jarvis closes his mouth in a thin line, at a loss of words.

Tony sighs and looks out the big window of the kitchen; in the front yard Howard’s bright beige Cadillac Brougham is parked. “So, where is he, my old man?” he asks.

“He’s in his office, finishing up some paperwork for the White House,” Jarvis explains. Tony turns to him but then looks at the key bowl lying on the counter.

“Alright, J,” he says as he walks over and grabs the keys for the Mazda MX-5 Miata. “Do me a favor and don’t let my father know I’m here just yet,” he tells the butler before going back to the hallway and fetching his hoodie.

“And where will you be going, Master Anthony?”

“I’ll go do some groceries shopping,” Tony says, sliding back into his sneakers.

“I did them just before you got here. I don’t think there’s anything missing-,”

“Oh, but there is, Ed. You missed more alcohol,” he says before winking Jarvis goodbye and shutting the door behind him.

\--

He returns only forty minutes later to find his mother laying on the ground in the living room, sipping on eggnog, while she wraps the presents she bought. “Honey!” she greets.

Tony drops the bags on the couch and bends down to give his mother a tight hug. “Hi, Mom,” he says.

Maria places a hand on her son’s cheek and rubs her thumb on it. “How’s my big boy?” she asks and Tony gives her a smile. “How’s school? You’re not failing much, are you?” she jokes, going back to her task.

Tony lets out a laugh. “Oh, yeah, I might not even graduate anytime soon,” he tells her and Maria replies with a smirk. “You?” he asks, after lightly clearing his throat. Last time he saw his mother, her eyes were always red, a heavy sadness rooted to her core.

Maria sighs as she puts one tiny bag under the tree. “It’s okay. I believe Edwin told you about your father’s little surprise,” she asks, raising one eyebrow.

Tony frowns, but it’s half-sarcastically. His mother _hates_ surprises. “You don’t wanna go to a fancy, exotic place?”

“Oh, no, I do. I just wish he’d give me a heads-up first,” she replies. “Besides, you’re here now—,”

“Hey, don’t let me ruin Dad's idea of a christmas present for you,” he says, shaking his hand. His mother gives him a look before standing up and walking up to him.

“You don’t ruin anything, honey,” she says.

“Yeah, I think Howard might disagree with you on that—,”

“Don’t do that, Tony. Don’t call him like that—,”

“What? His name?” Tony says, raising one eyebrow.

His mother sighs and places her hands on his shoulder, rubbing. “He’s your father. And it’s Christmas time. So, let’s not do this, okay?” she asks and Tony gets it.

He’s tired of fighting sometimes, too.

So he shrugs and gives his mom a kiss on the back of her hands. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why don’t you go say hello? Maybe get him out of there,” she asks, and Tony tries his best not to wrinkle his nose at her.

He figures he’s gotta be the one to give in. Always is, always will be.

“Sure, but can’t make any promises on the latter,” he says, grabbing the bag he got and taking it to the kitchen. Jarvis is nowhere in sight so Tony just goes, opens the bottle of scotch and takes one big sip before going to his father’s office.

He knocks on the door once and waits a few seconds, no reply. He tries the handle and it moves open.

Howard Stark sits in all of his greatness, messy gray hair and hands covered in ink as he signs paper after paper. “Uhm, hello,” Tony says by the door.

His father gives a quick glance at him and his eyebrows rise. “Oh, Tony, thought you were Jarvis for a second there,” he says, the cigar hanging on his mouth.

“Hey, Dad,” Tony says again, his hand — half raised— waving slightly. Howard doesn’t turn from his papers, instead grabs another pile and starts digging through them. “So, you good?” he tries, the awkward silence slowly deafening.

“Yes, you know, busy-,”

“As usual,” Tony finishes with a well-acted smile, Howard sighs a chuckle. Tony lets his smile falter and Howards puts the cigar down.

“You? School’s good?” he asks, but he only stops to look at him for twenty seconds.

“Yeah,” Tony answers, a proud smile.

His father doesn’t tell him to leave but when he looks down back to his desk, Tony knows that’s as far as it could go. He doesn’t say bye, just quietly turns on his spot and leaves the door half-open.

For some heavenly, blessed reason, Rhodey calls him the second after.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you, Jimmy boy?” Tony asks, a heartbeat after putting the telephone against his ear.

“That bad, huh?” Rhodey asks trying to sound playful but his voice feels shaky.

“I only have been here about an hour and I already feel like eating my arm,” he says, in the privacy of his childhood room.

“Aw, man, I wish I could be there with you,” Rhodey sighs and Tony nods on his end.

“Well, I _did_ invite you to come over—,”

“No but you know my mom would have my head if I miss another family holiday. She still hasn’t forgiven me for last year,” Rhodey says and Tony waves a hand Rhodey can’t see.

“When are you leaving for Philly, by the way?” he asks.

“I think Sunday. I still haven’t got the bus tickets,” Rhodey says.

“Honey-boo, your best friend is filthy rich, you know? I can just get you a first class plane ticket,” Tony says and he doesn’t have to see his friend to know he’s rolling his eyes back to Saturn.

“Everybody thinks I’m friends with you for your money, I’m not so eager to prove them right,” Rhodey says.

“Why won’t you let me spoil you? Gosh,” Tony fake-whines, smiling.

“’Cause I like having my own agency. I know, _wild_ ,” Rhodey retorts, and Tony is the one to roll his eyes this time.

“So, what happened to you?” Tony goes, changing the subject.

“What do you mean?” Rhodey asks, a weird nervous chuckle.

“I thought you’d be waking up hours ago, but it took you some time. It couldn’t be that bad, I mean, we didn’t even drink the whole thing,” Tony wonders and Rhodey falls dead silent. “Rhodey-hon, what is it?” he asks, rolling on his bed, looking at the ceiling.

He hears Rhodey taking several breaths before going, “You’re going to make fun of me.”

At that, Tony tries his best not to laugh and frown at the same time. “Well, now my interest is even more piqued,” he simply adds.

“I got a mark, Tones,” Rhodey says and that’s not what Tony expected.

“I didn’t touch you,” he says, vaguely.

“No, Ton— you know, it’s a little disturbing your mind would go _there_ ,” Rhodey says, interrupting himself.

“Oh, please, like you haven’t thought so yourself,” Tony adds, jokingly.

“ _Gross_ ,” Rhodey says, but he sounds amused enough. “No, Tones, I mean I got a name, a mark,” he explains, pressing on the last word.

Tony sits upright with a force that nearly makes him fall down again. “Holy shit, what?!”

“Yeah,” Rhodey breathes. “And it’s not only that, man…” he trails.

“Oh, God, is it awful? Like, is it Hitler? Is it _Joey Kramer_?” Tony asks, not stopping to take a breath.

“Jesus, Tony, this is serious—,”

“Nobody wants the lame drummer of Aerosmith, Rhodey,” Tony defends.

“You know he’s the one who came up with the name, right?”

“Still lame—,”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Rhodey cuts in. “No, I didn’t get anybody famous,” he deadpans.

Tony opens his arms in despair. “So, what is it?”

“It’s…James, like, _just_ James,” Rhodey says, after a long second.

Now, that’s a first. “Shit, is that even possible?”

“Fuck if I know, man,” Rhodey says, a little exasperated.

Tony’s frown deepens. “Are you sure you didn’t miss anything?” he wonders.

“What, like maybe it fell off somewhere?” Rhodey retorts, sarcastically.

“Hey, don’t bitch at me. I’m only trying to help you,” Tony says.

Rhodey sighs, exhausted. “This is some serious bull, Tones,” he mutters and Tony feels sad for him. Rhodey got so close yet so far.

“Maybe it’s just a sign you’re meant to love yourself. Like, a lot,” he says. “Hey—why didn’t I get my own name?”

“’Cause you hate yourself, kid,” Rhodey mutters, almost tiredly.

Tony shrugs. “That’s not a lie,” he agrees. “I’m sorry, Rhodey,” he adds. “Hey, maybe I can look through Howard’s crazy big library, I’m sure he has a huge ass encyclopedia on Soulmates Scars,” he offers.

“That could help, sure,” Rhodey says, but his voice doesn’t sound any less down.

The dinner bell rings in the whole mansion and Tony rubs his temple. Another demon for him to fight on his own.

“Hey, buddy, I gotta go. Eat dinner with the folks,” he shares, like he’s saying he’s going to the electric chair.

“That sounds like a whole different battle,” Rhodey says, gaining a little of his good mood.

“You got no idea,” Tony says. “But it could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I could have my own name on my wrist,” he jokes, a devilish grin on his face. All he hears is an exasperated ‘ _Oh, fuck you’_ before Rhodey kills the line. At least it makes him go to dinner with a big smile on his face.

After the —much awkward and almost absolutely silent— dinner is over, Tony heads back to the library and promptly devours nearly every textbook on soulmate scarring, silently cursing his teenage past self for paying little to no attention to any of this during biology class. Who knew you could get more than one soulmate mark? And that some people got them even before reaching their eighteens properly? Hell, no one told him you could get them even in a whole different language.

He’s three hours past midnight when he finds something useful, laying on the couch in the living room, with a Christmas hat on his head. _‘Some soulmate markings would appear incomplete on ones skin after reaching eighteen, showing just one single name, surname or nickname for each soulmate. Within these cases, some showed that the mark would develop into its full form upon coming in contact with one’s soulmate, while some other subjects found that in time the mark finishes forming itself on its own.’_

There are seventeen more pages but Tony’s eyelids are giving up. He’ll get some more info tomorrow before he calls Rhodey to give him the hopeful good news.

\--

 _“Try to remember the kind of September. When grass was green,”_ he listens to his mother sing faintly as he begins waking up. “Wake up, dear, and say goodbye to your father,” she tells him as Howard takes the blanket someone — surely Jarvis — put on him over the night.

“Who’s the homeless person on the couch?” his father jokes.

Tony stands up from the couch with a tired groan. “This is why I love coming home for Christmas…right before you leave town,” he says, trying not to sound bitter.

Howard puts his hands in his pockets, about to take the bait, when his mother goes: “Be nice, dear, he’s been studying abroad,” reminding him that their son is not home all the time because he’s trying to get a summa cum laude degree on Mechanical Engineering at MIT and not because he absolutely dreads being in the same space as his father.

“Really, which broad? What’s her name?” Howards goes, not losing his humor, taking the Christmas hat off Tony.

“Candice,” Tony guesses, having a hard time remembering the name of the last girl he hooked up with. He was sure the name started with ‘C’, though.

“I told you last night, you’re welcome to come with us,” Howards says but Tony wrinkles his nose at him.

He moves to stand behind his mother, sitting in front of the piano. “Thanks but no thanks. There are about a dozen things I’d rather do than spend my holiday break with my parents in some secluded place,” he says and then, in the same beat, asks, “where are you going, anyways?”

“You father is flying us to the Bahamas for a little getaway,” she shares, touching on some of the keys.

“We might have to make a quick stop—,”

“At the Pentagon, right?” he interrupts his father. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna love the Christmas menu at the commissary,” he tells his mother, all fake smiles.

“You know, they say sarcasm is a metric for potential,” Howard starts and Tony walks to rest on the doorframe. “If that’s true, you’ll be a great man someday. I’ll get the bags,” he finishes, talking to Maria at the end.

“He does miss you when you’re not here,” Maria says, after his father’s disappeared to another room.

“Oh, yeah, I do feel like he does, deep in my core,” Tony says in a fake cheerful tone and watches his mother standing up and walking to him.

She’s about to say something when Howard comes back, only one handbag in hand. “Do me a favor? Try not to burn the house down before Monday,” he asks.

“Okay, so, it’s Monday? That is good to know, I will plan my toga party accordingly,” he adds and feels a certain kind of pleasure when his father rolls his eyes. “Can you do _me_ a favor? Try not to let Mom get eaten by the mysterious mist,” he asks and Howard sighs.

“Tony…” his mother says.

“Three out of five people who go into the triangle die,” Tony says, defensively. Maria is now giving him a dirty look. Joke backfired.

“You know, you don’t have to sound so eager about us dying,” Howard says, harsh.

“That’s _not_ what I did. I merely pointed out you have a really poor choice of places to travel,” Tony tells his father, shrugging.

Howard stands and stares at him, wordless. Tony sees his own eyes in the deep brown of his father’s but he doesn’t drive his eyes away from his glare; won’t give him that. Howard shakes his head after a while, not getting a worthy comeback, giving up.

“Enjoy being alone for the rest of the weekend, son,” he simply says, before walking out the room.

Tony lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as soon as Howard was out of sight. Maria walks closer to him, placing her hand on his cheek once more. “You know we love you, right?” she asks, Tony blinks, he’s done fighting.

“I love you, too,” he tells her. “And I know you’re doing the best you can,” he adds.

She smiles tenderly and gives him a soft kiss on his cheek. “Stay safe, honey. I’ll see you on Monday,” she says before following after Howard.

Tony stands in the front door, next to Jarvis, waving his parents goodbye until the Cadillac rides off into the sunset.

 

* * *

_Long Island, 1991_

The car appears on the road just at the perfect time. Alone, in the dead of the night. One easy shot to the back wheel and physics does the rest, nature helps enough stage the scene. The year model car is now a wreck.

He turns on the bike and parks just by the side of the trunk.

_Extract._

He flips the back of the car open and finds the suitcase easily, opens that too and sees the serums.

 _Done_.

“Help— help my wife. Please. Help,” the man pleads in English. He grabs him by the hair and pulls him up. The man looks at him with shock and he finds something vaguely familiar in the brown of his eyes.

 _Sanction_.

“Sergeant Barnes?” the man questions at him. But it is nothing, it means nothing.

Two punches to the face and he’s halfway finished.

 _Done_.

He sits the dead man back on his seat, placing his head on the steering wheel. “Howard!” a woman shouts weakly.

 _No witnesses_.

He walks around the car with hard struts and stops by the passenger seat door. Without looking, he slides the hand inside and finds a pulsing neck. One squeeze and it ends.

 _Done_.

Mission accomplished.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gets to spend some time in Philly before he has to report for the Initial Flight Training, a couple of months after his commissioning after graduation.
> 
> The flight programs and classes he took during his college years didn’t make him any less excited about the prospects of becoming an Air Force Pilot. Of fulfilling his dream. Of touching the sky.
> 
> He puts his flying suit, with his brand new Second Lieutenant insignia, in his bag. And with a big smile on his face, he takes the flight to Pueblo, Colorado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before heading into this one:
> 
>   1. This chapter contains **homophobic slurs** , as well as **homophobic behaviour within the U.S. Air Force and other branches**    
> 
>   2. I want to let it be noted that I have no clear idea of what the US military (in this case, the Air Force specifically) is really like. I based all the bits I mention below on stuff I read on forums, a couple of PDF's and the official Air Force website. If something looks unbearably off, please let me know asap and I'll change it. I'm trying to make this as accurate as possible. 
> 


_Cambridge, 1991_

Rhodey finds out after his daily run, on the TV of his favorite sandwich place. The falling of a titan, they call it; Rhodey only sees it as the end of life as Tony knows it.

“Stark Industries founder, Howard Stark, was found dead this morning after enduring multiple injuries in a car crash. The Long Island Police Department confirmed the accident occurred at night, somewhere around 7 PM. The inventor, with a brilliant record of helping the U.S. Armed Forces, was with his wife, Maria, who also died at the scene. They left only one son, Anthony Edward, who is set to graduate with the highest honors at MIT upcoming June,” the woman on the TV says and Rhodey feels his heart sink.

He gives his mother a call on a payphone and a split second after Rhodey says the words ‘Momma, I can’t go home for the holidays just yet,’ his mother replies with a warm ‘I understand’, and Rhodey takes the soonest ride to Manhattan.

Rhodey gets to the Stark mansion in Manhattan with some help from the butler – who Tony has to thank for what remains of his sanity– on the phone.

There’s a huge crowd, covering half of the block to the house, along with TV crew and police officials. Rhodey has to wave his hand at who he knows to be Jarvis from pictures like a maniac before he gets spotted.

“You must be Mister Rhodes,” the old man greets in a British accent, offering his hand for Rhodey to shake.

“You must be Mister Jarvis,” Rhodey greets back, with a little nod. They don’t smile but it’s polite enough.

“Come with me. Master Tony is this way,” he says and gets Rhodey past the ‘Do not cross’ sign.

The house inside is crazy empty. Seems almost a phantom place. Rhodey spots a few staff members in the kitchen, with conflicted looks in their eyes. Then some six other people in the living room, all dressed in nice black suits and a Stark Industries pin.

“Mister Rhodes, this way,” Jarvis calls him up, standing in front of a big double-door. Rhodey walks up to him and swallows as Jarvis pushes the doors open silently.

Facing the warm fireplace, Tony stands smaller than usual. A dark gray vest and no jacket, with his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

“Tones?” Rhodey calls, walking inside slowly. His friend turns to him in surprise and locks eyes with him.

Ever since Rhodey met him, back in a messy campus party he was far too young to be in, he’s known Tony’s a sad guy. One look into his eyes is enough for anyone to learn he spends a great deal of his time feeling like shit.

This time that sadness is different.

This time he’s not just sad, he’s broken.

Rhodey places just one hand on his shoulder and Tony crashes onto his chest. He looks over Tony’s head to see Jarvis leaving them quietly. “I got you,” he whispers, rolling a hand down Tony’s spine. “I’m not going anywhere. I got you,” he adds and Tony chokes on a breath in his arms.

\--

_Stark Mansion, 1991_

“They said they just crashed into some fucking tree on the road, man. They were supposed to go on a stupid trip,” Tony tells him, eyelashes shining wet. They’re now sitting on the couch of the big room they’re in. “The police have been coming and going asking questions as if nearly every communist country didn’t want Howard dead but the final statement is that it was just some stupid accident,” he adds.

Rhodey nods. “Yeah, I heard about it on the news,” he says.

Tony turns to him and looks ten years younger and lost. “Did you see them? The pictures?” Rhodey sighs and shakes his head slowly. “Yeah, me neither. Been running away from them, actually,” he adds.

“That’s better, Tony,” he says.

Tony bites his lower lip as he nods, but then he lets his head fall once more. “The fuck am I gonna do now, man?” he asks, rhetorically, and walks to the window.

Rhodey stands to walk next to him when the door opens. “It is truly a sad day in history,” a man says on the phone as he walks in, cigar on his hand. “Yes, yes. Will Tony be giving a statement?” he asks out loud.

Tony turns to him and shakes his head silently.

“No, not yet,” he answers and Tony sighs, annoyed. “Yes. Of course Miss Gabriel. Goodbye now,” he finishes and closes the antenna of the device. “Tony,” he says, voice serene as he gives Tony a tight hug.

“Obie,” Tony grunts, after the man gives him a –far too hard – pat on the back. He rolls his hand up and squeezes his shoulders.

Then he notices Rhodey’s presence and as Rhodey’s almost about to reach out to shake his hand, the man goes: “Can you please bring us two coffees?”

Rhodey stops in his tracks and raises one eyebrow, blinking three times. _Do what now?_

“Obie, what the hell? This is my friend, James Rhodes. He’s from MIT,” Tony steps in and Rhodey swallows and puts on his best manners suit, forcing himself not to glare at the man as he shakes his hand.

“Obadiah Stane,” the man says, with all smiles and business persona. “Tony, we’re ready to go. The hearse will arrive at the Trinity Church Cemetery just in time for the President to give his public speech. They’re just waiting for you,” he says, turning to Tony, giving Rhodey his back.

Tony looks at him and then back at Rhodey before nodding with a tired sigh.

Rhodey feels empathetic. What a terrible way of saying goodbye to your parents, with the whole world watching.

“Can you go, stay with Jarvis?” Tony asks him.

Rhodey nods steadily, once.

\--

Seeing Tony’s parents be laid down in the ground, to the sound of a joint service drum corps, gave Rhodey a little perspective. He took a look at the single name –or last name—on his wrist and sighed. There are worst things in life than having absolutely no clue who your soulmate could be.

Like losing your only family and having to deal with a company and a legacy at 21.

He stayed in the guest room for a couple of more days, watched as Tony answered more questions for the authorities and met a woman called Peggy, who Tony said was his aunt “in heart”.

Just two days before Christmas Eve, Tony appeared with plane tickets to Philly. “Go on, I don’t want Roberta to get mad at me for hoarding her son,” he jokes, handing Rhodey the tickets.

“No, Tones, I told her I wanted to be here with you. She gets it—,”

“Hey, I’m fine. Just because I don’t get to be with my family doesn’t mean you don’t have to,” he says and Rhodey tries his hardest not to cry right there. “Besides, I’ve got Jarvis and Peggy here now, I won’t be alone,” he adds, shaking the tickets in front of Rhodey’s face again. “Go, go, I’m throwing you out. Go,” he adds, dropping the tickets on Rhodey’s lap.

Rhodey rolls his eyes and takes them. The next morning, he’s giving Tony another big hug at the airport, then he’s arriving at the Philadelphia International Airport and taking a cab back home.

His mother hasn’t finished opening the door of the apartment before Rhodey’s launching himself at her.

If he cries a little on her shoulder, she understands.  

* * *

 

_Cambridge, 1992_

“Say ‘cheese’,” Jeannette asks Rhodey with her Polaroid in hand. Rhodey raises his diploma up in the air and smiles widely.

“Cheese,” he mutters between his teeth. But the next second, 161 pounds cling at Rhodey’s back.

“We did it, Rhodes!” Tony shouts in his ear and Rhodey does a spin with Tony on his back.

“Anthony,” his mother calls and Rhodey drops Tony so he can go give her a hug. “How are you? That was a nice speech you gave there,” she says, Tony waves her off politely.

“That’s ‘cause he loves the spotlight. The attention brings out the best of him,” Jeannette adds and Tony fake-laughs.

“You know, keep making fun of me and I won’t use my pull to get you into Harvard, young lady,” he says but Rhodey’s sister scoffs.

“I don’t need your help to get into Harvard, jerk-face,” Jeannette mocks and Tony opens his mouth like he’s offended but then he starts poking her in the gut, trying to tickle her. “Stop it, you idiot,” she says, with a smile as she pushes Tony away. “Congratulations, morons,” she tells them, tenderly.

“The word you’re looking for is genius,” Rhodey says, proud pout on his face.

“Congratulations, Mister Rhodes,” Jarvis greets as he reaches them. He hands Tony back his graduate cap and then gives Rhodey a firm handshake.

“Mister Jarvis,” he greets back. “Uhm, this is my mother, my sister,” he introduces them to Tony’s butler and basically father figure.

They exchange handshakes and then Rhodey’s mother goes: “Honey, we should get going. Your father went to get the car, he wants to take us to that place you like on Parker Street,” she says.

“Duguay’s,” Rhodey mutters, his eyebrows rising.

“Best chicken in town,” Tony complies. They clasp their hands together and then hug. “You’re not gonna be a stranger now, are you?” he asks, there’s a hint of fear in the back of his throat.

Rhodey pushes him by the shoulder, where the mark of his name is. “In your dreams, Richie Rich,” he tells him.

\--

He gets to spend some time in Philly before he has to report for the Initial Flight Training, a couple of months after his commissioning after graduation.

The flight programs and classes he took during his college years didn’t make him any less excited about the prospects of becoming an Air Force Pilot. Of fulfilling his dream. Of touching the sky.

He puts his flying suit, with his brand new Second Lieutenant insignia, in his bag. And with a big smile on his face, he takes the flight to Pueblo, Colorado.

He arrives at 1000 on his Day 0 of training. Lieutenant O’Conner gives him the prior welcome, gathering his file and all his information and provides him with the keys to his room.

Rhodey remains fully professional during the whole thing but there’s a kid inside him who’s jumping excitedly on the spot.

He finds a guy in his room and wonders just why he wasn’t informed he'd be double-billeted. “Oh, you must be my new roommate,” the guy says. He has a Holy Mary tattooed on his left bicep and a ‘Taylor Gardner’ in his right wrist Rhodey can catch quickly enough as he offers his hand. “Second Lieutenant David Álvarez,” he introduces himself.

“Second Lieutenant James Rhodes,” he replies back, shaking tightly.

“Where you from?” Álvarez asks, making small-talk.

“Philly,” Rhodey complies.

“Saint Joseph's?” he asks, frowning.

Oh. “God, no. I'm from MIT,” Rhodey shares.

Álvarez quirks one eyebrow. “Ah, rival school,” he says and now Rhodey is the one frowning.

“Harvard?” he asks.

“GaTech,” Álvarez corrects.

“Damn. For real?” Rhodey goes and Álvarez nods proudly. “Which major?”

“Computer Science,” he says.

“Mechanical Engineering,” Rhodey shares, too. It's always soothing to find a fellow nerd. Rhodey walks over to the remaining twin bed and puts his bag on it.

“So, you think you got the other diversity slot?” Álvarez wonders, boldly, sitting back on his own bed. Rhodey turns only to frown at him and then back to taking out his white pajama shirt. “I’m only asking ‘cause I’m certain that’s what they did with me,” he adds.

“That much confidence you got, huh?” Rhodey says, sarcastically. He rearranges the uniforms he took out and closes his bag.

“I was the only Latino in my detachment,” he says, giving a vague shrug.

He had a point there; a point Rhodey tried his best to ignore all his years studying. He wasn’t the only black guy in his wing but he was the only one of his MIT class. “I’m not sure, man. I did my job at UPT, tried my best on all my tasks. I like to think I’m here ‘cause of those achievements but I wouldn’t put it past them to do something like that,” he says, sitting and facing his new roommate. Rhodey puts his hands together on his lap and presses his lips on a thin line.

Álvarez does his best not to stare back and blinks. “Can I ask a personal question?” he goes, Rhodey does his best not to roll his eyes.

“If it’s about my mark, no, I don’t know what happened,” he says and the guy raises his eyebrows at him.

“Damn, that really is something else, isn’t it?” he adds then, and Rhodey feels like he’s trying to be friendly, but Rhodey’s just really tired and it’s been almost a year since the mark appeared and he’s given up on over-thinking about it. “James is, you know-,”

“Crazy popular, I know,” Rhodey interrupts, his soul tired.

“Yeah, that, sure, but I was gonna say, it’s—it’s a guy’s name,” Álvarez states, his face looking something between embarrassed and amused.

Talk about points Rhodey’s tried to ignore for a long time.

His frown grows deeper as he says: “It’s also a last name,” with an unsaid ‘duh’ in the back.

Álvarez blinks once but then he half-opens his mouth to say something, struggles finding his words and then closes it.

 _‘Homosexuality is incompatible with military service’_ , Rhodey heard vaguely in one of his JROTC trainings in high school, years ago. That one rang louder than the thousand mean comments he heard in the hallways and on the court on his neighborhood, or the judgmental and plain scarring things the pastor would say in Sunday Service.

Gay people couldn’t serve; homosexual conduct ‘can threaten the lives, including the physical and psychological well-being’ of other fellow servicemen and women. They weren’t _allowed_.

Back then, Rhodey felt his stomach sink hard just in sympathy. He’s lived enough discrimination as it is. Who the fuck cares who you love? Biology certainly didn’t and God sure as hell didn’t either.

“I just thought you know— marks don’t care so I don’t either,” Álvarez expands on the topic.

Rhodey really needs to kill this conversation fast.

“But we shouldn’t talk about this,” Álvarez says, thank fuck. Rhodey feels his neck getting hot and he’s not even sure why he’s nervous.

There are dark thoughts he’s buried deep in his memories, feelings he’s suppressed with tight-strong determination.

Nothing would stand on his way to his dream, not even _himself_.

“I’m not like that,” Rhodey lets out and regrets it a split second after.

“I told you I don’t care,” Álvarez retorts, but he sounds rushed, just as nervous. “Now, ignore I ever said anything and shut up,” he adds, half-playful note, half-serious.

There’s a sick feeling on the tip of his tongue as Rhodey feels both stupefied and offended that Álvarez would say –would even think— that of him just ‘cause of some half-scarred, stupid mark he has no control over, but he agrees. Some topics just cannot be discussed. Some things cannot be addressed.

It gives them power, makes them real. Exposes him.

_‘Fuck, get your head straight, Rhodes. You got an important day tomorrow.’_

He watches as his new, mind-troubling, roommate gets under his covers. He gives one last glance at Álvarez and the guy genuinely looks like he’s sorry he brought the topic up, but again, they agreed it’s better not to talk about it, so Rhodey doesn’t say anything and instead turns on his back, after muttering a ‘Night’.

He clicks the light off and then gets under his covers, giving one quick look at the haunting ‘James’ written on his wrist.

 _‘You better not screw this up,’_ he thinks at it.

It’s the first time in all his life he wishes he didn’t have a mark anymore.

* * *

 

_Siberia,1992_

He gets thrown on the floor with sharp ferocity. It’s the sixth time.

“Good work,” Karpov congratulates smugly, standing behind him in the corner.

Sweaty hair on his face, he begins standing up before it all turns to chaos.

One of the soldiers throws the doctor to the ground with one swift push, breaks his spine, takes his life. He can’t help but wish it’d been him instead.

A stick to the soldier’s shoulder and the rest of the monsters get up, blood-thirst on their eyes. Not ready to comply, ready to kill.

“ _Soldat_ ,” his coward of a handler calls, gun just above his shoulder. “Get me out of here,” he commands. In the back of his head something –someone—dreams of leaving him there for dead. Let his vicious comrades have a go at their creator.

But he complies, is built to do so, and gets Karpov out, locking the other soldiers in their cells along with the rest of the guards. Like feeding piranhas.

It doesn’t take them long to realize the monsters cannot be controlled, not like he is. There’s a faint memory of him rebelling against his holders in different facilities, different eras, a long time ago.

It always ended the same. “Put him on ice,” they’d say, and he was no longer a problem for them.

They build the other five Cryostasis Chambers in record time, one next to the other, with his own standing in the middle. All the soldiers can be far more effective and skillful than he is but he still comes first; he’s controllable, obedient. The first Hydra fist. An example for them to follow.

It still makes him end with an oxygen mask on his face, inside his cold chamber in this cold facility.

It doesn’t matter how many successful missions he has on his belt, he always gets the same punishment.

Or is it just a cold reward?

He holds that thought as the chamber closes, trapping his chained body inside. He lets his gaze fall, away from Karpov and his men and this century. And without the slightest intention he notices it, crystal clear on his flesh arm. It makes the man on his brain choke a breath. Recognize.

 _James_.

It used to mean someone – someone important. Him. No, someone else. Friends, brothers in arms. No. His grandfather.

Him. His past self. The man he was before becoming just a carcass, a shell, a container of anything his holders wished to put in for them.

 _James_.

They put it there, they must’ve put it there. To haunt him, to remind him he doesn’t have the whole puzzle, can’t even begin to grasp the whole thing. A reminder of what they took, of everything they took.

 _James_.

It means him, it means a whole world of people, and him. _He_ ’s James. It’s _his_ name.

Now James wants to scream in pain but he doesn’t let him. The cold breeze has already numbed down the lower half of his body. He closes his eyes and drowns in the darkness, _James_ wants to feel, _he_ doesn’t.

 _James_.

It’s him, but it’s not him, he’s something else, something unusual—it has nothing to do with James. So who is he? And who is James?

A name on a wrist; it’s important – everyone has it. But he doesn’t; never got one, he thinks. He knows. No, he can’t remember. Everyone has it. Why doesn’t he have it?

 _James_.

He can’t feel his hands anymore, his heart rate is getting lower and lower but his brain is at full speed. A name, a mark, most people have it. The cold catches up to him.

A name, a mark, James.

A soulmate.

* * *

 

_Colorado, 1992_

Rhodey wakes up at 0600, just one hour before he has to go downstairs for welcoming and presentation and the start of the next eight weeks as he gets ready to become what he always said he would: an Air Force pilot.

‘Damn, you did it, Rhodes,’ he tells himself in the mirror, allowing himself just a little bit of excitement before he has to put his cool and collected mask on. He steps into the cold shower and pays no mind to the tug on his arm, the nervous butterflies floating freely in his empty stomach.

It’s only when he’s drying himself that he notices it.

Fuck. Guess he can’t ever be fully happy.

Leaving absolutely no trace behind, his wrist is now empty, clear, James-less. He repeats the same process he did months ago, when he got it: threw the towel to the ground and searched in every corner of his body.

‘You gotta be careful what you wish for,’ lingers above his head and Rhodey wants to kick himself to death, right there.

“Yo’ Rhodes, it’s getting late and I gotta shower, too, man,” Álvarez says outside, knocking on the door.

Rhodey put on his best voice after he swallows and yells: “I’m almost done.”

The fucking game they’re playing with him, up there? It ain’t funny anymore.

He slides into his flying suit, all his good mood crushed to the ground, disappeared with his mark, and gets out of the bathroom.

“Wow, you good, man?” Álvarez asks, taking a few steps back from the door frame to let Rhodey out.

Rhodey almost growled at his question because no, he wasn’t good, something was fucked up inside him and it was manifesting on his soulmate mark. Or the lack of it, to be more specific. “I’m fine,” he lies, putting on his socks.

“Hey, dude, it’s alright. We’re all nervous, too,” Álvarez tries, being sympathetic. Rhodey scoffs a fake chuckle for his benefit and listens to him go into the bathroom, minding his own damn business.

He steps in the boots and rolls his sleeve up just enough to see his wrist once more. Still empty.

Rhodey lets out a deep breath and rolls the sleeve back down. Whatever. Who needs a soulmate anyways?

\--

The first day runs smoothly. The physical test is nothing Rhodey wasn’t prepared for, and he also manages to excel in it.

“Impressive, Rhodes,” his superior says, at the end of the day.

Álvarez stops asking questions this time and later on Rhodey finds out he's not into Star Wars. Betrayal on all the nerd community.

“It just looks fake as hell, dude,” he defends. But Rhodey waves him off and lands on his bed.

“Whatever. You just got shitty taste,” he says. Álvarez smiles and then goes into the bathroom. In the sudden quietness of the room, Rhodey remembers the missing part of him.

When Álvarez gets out some minutes later, Rhodey takes his turn, silent again.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” he says but Rhodey’s too caught up in himself to care.

They grow closer despite the rocky start. Álvarez can talk to no end about nearly every topic you throw his way, and even if he's utterly talking out of his ass he makes you believe he knows what he's talking about.

“That is not how engines work, Dave,” Rhodey says during one of their lunches.

“I'm telling you, it worked. Poured cooking oil into it and the thing started,” he says and Rhodey shakes his head smiling.

He's figured he's earned the man’s trust when he tries to sneak out in the night, the third week in.

“David?” Rhodey calls, yawning. He hears what sounds like someone hitting their toes on the corner of the bed.

“Shit, fuck!” Álvarez curses and Rhodey turns the nightstand light on.

“The hell are you going?” Rhodey wonders.

Álvarez looks back at the door behind him then back to Rhodey. “I gotta get out of here, just a few hours,” he says.

Trouble. This guy is just trouble.

“We don’t need to leave the facility,” Rhodey says, remembering his manual.

“Well, we’re not imprisoned here, either,” he refutes. “It’s just some hours, I’ll be back before the sun starts to open its pretty little eyes,” he says. Rhodey’s sleepy enough to picture an actual sun blinking.

“We have group activities tomorrow. You’re gonna make me look bad,” Rhodey mutters, yawning once more.

“I promise you I will be the best teammate and fellow airmen you’ve ever had,” Álvarez pleads with his shiny olive-brown eyes.

Rhodey’s too tired to keep pushing on being a proper leader figure; he’ll save that for the officer leadership test.

“Whatever. Just don’t get my ass in the crossfire,” Rhodey says.

“Sure thing. I’ll protect your ass, Rhodes. No harm will come to it,” Álvarez adds, totally inappropriately.

Sometimes Álvarez reminds Rhodey of Tony. Maybe that’s why he likes him.

Next day, David makes good on his promise and does a good job at double-team training. They don’t come on top because Wagner and Davis are tight and vicious and also cousins on their mother’s side, but it’s good. Rhodey knows when to let his competitive side die down a little.

“You smug little shit,” Rhodey says as soon as he sees the little purple mark on Álvarez collarbone when he steps out of the shower with only his sleeping white t-shirt.

Álvarez eyebrows twitch a little in confusion and then Rhodey points to his own collarbone. His roommate goes to the mirror on the bathroom and mutters “Shit!” loud enough for Rhodey to hear.

“You know, you could've just said that’s what you were going to do. I would’ve understood,” Rhodey says, but he's mocking David a little. “Was it your soulmate?” he asks, still smiling, and Álvarez opens the water tap.

“Nah,” he says, coming out with a towel on his neck. “I haven’t met him—her,” Álvarez corrects himself quickly, his face going a little pale there. Rhodey loses his smile a little. “I meant her. English, man,” he adds, scoffing a _seriously_ awkward laugh.

“I thought you said you were from California,” Rhodey says, as Álvarez sits back on his bed.

“I am but my dad's Cuban, mom's Venezuelan. It’s kind of a hard thing to shake,” he adds, his voice just faltering a little. Rhodey doesn’t dig any more into it.

Some things are better left untouched.

\--

It’s almost five days before IFT is over when Rhodey's once again faced with conversations he'd really rather not have.

“—Rhodes must have an idea. He rooms with the guy,” Williams tells the other four men following behind him as they approach Rhodey after one of the last aptitude tests. “Yo’ Rhodes, how’s that dude Álvarez?” he asks and Rhodey frowns.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Is it true what they say about him?” Davis steps in, without absolutely no touch.

He’d been far too focused on doing his best that Rhodey really couldn’t bring himself to know just what kind of stuff people were talking about his roommate, so he just stands there and raises his eyebrows, waiting for more exposition.

“Is he, you know, weird?” Davis tries, lingering on the adjective.

“Weird how?” Rhodey asks, still confused.

Andrews sighs, a little exasperated. “Oh, God, is he a sissy?” he wonders, a devilish spark on his eye.

Rhodey glares at him and goes back to gathering the rest of his stuff; this conversation is done.

“Shut up, Scotty, the hell?” Davis says, hitting Andrews on his ribs. “Look, we’re just wondering ‘cause we can’t have people like that near, you see? We gotta look out for each other,” he adds, giving Rhodey a little bump on the shoulder.

Rhodey stares at him expressionless. He’s calculating the outcomes from tossing half of them to the other side of the room just for gigs; he knows it can’t possibly end well but he entertains the thought just for his pleasure.

He wouldn’t risk his career for this but he wasn’t going to lose his basic human decency either.

“Please, move out of my way,” he asks, politely.

“You really got nothing?” Williams asks on his left.

“Why, you wanna ask him out on a date?” Rhodey replies, his patience running out by the second. Williams shows his teeth but he doesn’t look amused.

“Relax, Rhodes, we just wanna make sure we’re all the same here,” Davis tries. “You sure he’s clear?”

“I don’t care what other fellow airmen do on their spare time, as long as they’re respectable and effective out there, where it matters,” he says, collected.

“Ain’t nothing respectable about being a homosexual,” Andrews adds, but Rhodey’s heard this enough times to be sick of it.

“Why are ya’ll so afraid of what’s different?” he asks the five white men standing in front of him, almost smiling with utter pity at them.

Lieutenant O’Conner appears in the room and all of them move swiftly to salute. “What are you all still doing here? Go back to your rooms, it’s almost 1900,” he orders and they all scatter in a poof.

Rhodey gets to his room with fervent anger on his chest. He opens the door and throws it behind him, Álvarez is reading an Emergency Procedures guideline.

“Uh-oh, what are you on now?” he asks, eyes on the book.

Rhodey saves him the burden of knowing what people think of him, he isn’t sure it’ll be helpful for anyone, and instead says, “Nothing.”

Álvarez turns to give him a look then and Rhodey decidedly ignores him. He gives up after a minute and goes back to his book; Rhodey then turns just a little and looks at him. Sitting on his bed, long legs and strong arms, Álvarez is quite handsome, with a strong-jaw and a light peach-brown skin.

Fuck them. What do they know?

“Hey, Dave,” Rhodey calls, his voice quiet, bare. Álvarez turns to him with full attention and bright olive eyes. “I don’t care, either,” he says, remembering their first conversation, two months ago. He hopes to God his eyes do the rest for him, because he doesn’t think he can really bring himself to talk about this out loud. But he needs Álvarez to know, he needs his conscience clear.

And it works, after a while of Álvarez just staring at Rhodey like he’s got a mental condition, because he smiles slightly as soon as he gets it and turns his head back to his lap, where his book lies. “Alright,” he deadpans, nodding slowly. “That is— good to know,” he adds.

In the following days he feels a slight kind of peace but there’s still a turmoil of thoughts he’s saving for later, for a time when he’s not about to do the one thing he’s dreamt the most about in his entire life.

He gets in the T-1 Jayhawk ignoring the sheer happiness on his gut that’s making him want to throw up right there on the track. He follows all his guidelines with razor-sharp memory, like he’s getting into his old man’s Chevy truck and the next moment is it.

He’s done it.

He’s flying.

Below him lies the rest of the world and all its miniscule problems, along with his own. Up here, he’s surrounded by clouds and peace; he feels utter greatness before he has to step back into the present and do the flight maneuvers they ask him to do.

He passes his check-ride with flying colors and is told he’ll get his orders in the following days.

He shakes Álvarez’s hand goodbye and smiles when he says: “Good luck out there.”

“You, too,” Rhodey replies.

And when the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy became legal under President Clinton’s run the following year, Rhodey thought of his former roommate. Feeling like they were taking one single step forward after leaping ten backwards.

 _Some things are better left untouched_ , he defensively thought back then.

Seems like the U.S. armed forces are just as much cowards as he is.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey catches the news on his trip to the base on Laughlin. 
> 
> “The Stark Industries will have now a new face,” the headline reads, a picture of Tony posing with Stane behind him, his hands on his shoulders. “At the age of 22 — just shy of 23, Tony Stark just became the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company in all of history after his father, Howard Stark, died in a car accident last year. Tony graduated top of his class at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and is set to inherit the sixth biggest fortune in America’s history,” the article read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before heading into this one:
> 
>   1. This chapter contains the **canon death of a character** , but it's only a brief mention.   
> 
>   2. As I've mentioned before, I've searched stuff to try to keep some aspects of the fic as realistic as possible. The UN Operation in Somalia I mention was a thing that happened and I got the tidbits I mention from this [pdf](https://www.afhra.af.mil/Portals/16/documents/Airmen-at-War/Haulman-USAFSomalia1992-1995.pdf?ver=2016-08-22-131410-337) & the Wiki page. 
>   3. Again, huge shoutout to my beta readers [Shirokou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirokou), [WingMoon ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingMoon)and  [ Cy ](https://cockringhoratio.tumblr.com/). I can't believe how many 'He's this chapter originally had. 
> 


_Manhattan, 1992_

Tony leaves quietly, stepping on his tip toes, doing his best to avoid stepping on the high heels and broken glasses and the rest of the mess lying on the carpeted floor, just shy of the sun finishing its rise.

He finds everyone fast asleep when he steps out of the room into the living room. Some guys asleep on the floor, some girls asleep on the couch, everyone in their underwear or less.

One hell of a party.

He goes into the stranger’s house kitchen and takes a perfectly good, cold beer just sitting there in the fridge. It boosts him enough to put on his sunglasses and ride back to the mansion.

He parks on the garage and as soon as he steps out of his car his ears catch the sweet, anger-possessed voice of one Peggy Carter. “Mister Jarvis, move out of the way, I just need to speak with him—,” she says, full-on warning voice at her friend.

“It’s alright Ed, I deserve it,” Tony mutters, opening the door to the living room. “Hey, Aunt Pegs,” he greets and Peggy presses her red lips together, her eyes piercing.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, taking two steps towards him, shaking an accusing finger.

“Out,” he says, all honestly. “I told Jarvis where I was going—,”

“That was two days ago,” Jarvis mutters, looking at neither of them.

Tony blinks at him, his mouth half-open. “I…lost track of time,” he replies.

Peggy lets out an exasperated sigh and takes another step closer to him, looking like she’s inches away from smacking him with the nearest hard object. Jarvis steps in front of her and places his hands on her shoulders.

“Let me handle it,” he tells her.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, God, what’s the problem? I already graduated; I have no one to answer to anymore. Who cares if I spend 48 hours passed out on some stranger’s floor because of some stupid, juvenile partying?”

“We do, sir,” Jarvis answers, turning towards him. “ _I_ do, Tony,” he says, this time more quietly, more meaningful. In his darkened green eyes Tony finds all of his childhood.

Memories of Jarvis picking him up and taking care of his wounds after he fell some thirteen times over trying to learn how to ride a bike all by himself. Memories of him drying Tony’s tears off his cheeks after Howard’s yelled at him too loudly, too harshly. Memories of Jarvis telling him scary stories that made him giggle instead of scaring him right before bedtime. Memories of him teaching him the rules of rugby and soccer and why it was better than “any other American sport”.

Of Jarvis teaching him how to drive secretly in one of Howard’s model cars, with a pillow under his butt to give him more height, and teaching him how to shave even though Jarvis couldn’t grow facial hair anymore and his hands would shake a little.

Tony reasons Jarvis has dedicated almost 22 years of his life to his ungrateful ass and he feels his heart sink. Tony looks down at the floor, his sight getting blurry as his eyes fill with tears.

“Miss Carter, can you give me a moment alone with Master Stark?” Jarvis asks Peggy behind him, and she leaves giving Tony a sympathetic look, all her previous anger gone. “Anthony, look at me,” he asks and Tony drives his eyes back up. “I have sat and watched for the last five months as you waste yourself away with liquor and people who do not care about you. I will do so no more,” he begins to say but Tony’s panic gets the best out of him.

He throws himself at Jarvis like he’s seven, trapping him with his arms in a hug as tears roll down his cheeks. “Please, don’t leave me,” Tony mutters at his clean, freshly iron vest. “I know I’m terrible and I don’t deserve you but please, Ed, I’ll be better, I’ll behave, I promise,” he starts begging, before he can stop himself.

Jarvis stands still for a second and then untangles himself from Tony’s grip. “Boy,” he whispers softly and Tony takes some distance, wiping the evidence of tears from his cheeks. “That is not what I meant, Tony,” he says. “What I meant is that I have left you to your devices to cope with what happened, trusting you’d be wise to do so in whatever ways you thought effective but I believe I may have overestimated you,” he says, finding a way to scold him without sounding like he’s scolding him. Tony’s almost impressed. “Are you aware of how I feel about you, Anthony?” he asks, a beat later.

Tony blinks at him and nods. He knows Jarvis loves him, more than Howard ever did, but that’s not a bar too high to pass.

“Ever since my beloved Ana lost the possibility of baring our children at a young age, there’s nothing on Earth I have wanted more than a child. Just one. I’d ask that on almost every prayer but it could not happen and without my Ana I wouldn’t try anyway,” he says what Tony had much gathered since he was twelve and old enough to question why Jarvis didn’t have kids of his own. “Not long after, you came into your father’s life and that was about as far as I could get my wish, Tony. Even Ana saw it like that,” he says, his eyes shining with a peaceful nostalgia.

Tony had loved Ana Jarvis like a slightly young grandmother, just about two times less than he loves Jarvis but he remembers vividly how he cried for three days straight when she passed and how he’d tell his mother he wanted to go live with Jarvis after the butler took a five months leave.

“—And ever since she left, it’s your family I have had to call as my own,” Jarvis adds. “ _You_ are my family, Anthony,” Jarvis says, putting a hand on his face.

Tony smiles, doesn’t talk because his voice will break if he does, and leans back into Jarvis’ shoulder, giving him another squeeze. “Why are you telling me this?” he wonders.

“Because I might not be here in the future, and you must know,” he says, giving him a soft pat on the back. “And because I want you to care, about me and Miss Carter and the life we want for you,” he says and Tony frowns, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Carter,” Jarvis calls instead and Peggy pops out of the other room; she must’ve heard the whole thing.

“It is time for you to run your father’s company, Tony,” Peggy says without preamble.

Tony figures they were joking. He was absolutely incapable of filling his father’s shoes, even if he wanted to. “Isn’t Obie taking care of that?” he asks and Peggy and Jarvis exchange a look that raises far more questions than it answers. “What? What’s wrong with Obie?”

“Nothing, Tony, it’s just— I know your father would’ve wanted for you to run Stark Industries instead,” Peggy says.

“My dad _hated_ when I went near his stuff,” Tony says, trying not to think of any particular moment but there were many.

“That’s not true. Remember he was really excited when you built that robot at the workshop in the New York facility,” Jarvis chips in.

Tony opens his mouth to add a witty remark but decides against it. These were the closest people his father ever had –other than Captain fucking America. He doesn’t need to crush the memory of Howard to them, not when the man’s not there to defend himself anymore, at least. “I highly doubt I’m capable of being like he was, guys,” Tony says instead.

“Then don’t,” Peggy says, a hopeful smile on her face. “You be something else, something better. Turn Stark Industries into everything your father could not, Tony,” she says, grabbing his hands in her wrinkles-covered ones.

Aunt Peggy did always have the best ideas.

\--

_Val Verde County, 1992_

Rhodey catches the news on his trip to the base on Laughlin, after he got selected for SUPT for giving “a remarkable academic, military and athletic performance”. He smiled at that one widely, and his father nearly cried with pride after he showed him the letter with his orders.

“The Stark Industries will have now a new face,” the headline reads, a picture of Tony posing with Stane behind him, his hands on his shoulders. “At the age of 22 —just shy of 23, Tony Stark just became the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company in all of history after his father, Howard Stark, died in a car accident last year. Tony graduated top of his class at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and is set to inherit the sixth biggest fortune in America’s history,” the article read.

‘The Richie Rich joke just got slightly funnier,’ Rhodey muses as he goes to the payphone in the train station. He dials the mansion’s number and waits for Jarvis’ British accent to come up.

“Yes?” Tony says instead and Rhodey raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“But if it isn’t the man of the hour,” he greets and he can picture Tony smiling miles away. “I’m sorry, Mister Stark. Are you busy?” he jokes.

“Buddy, you don’t even know. I came to the house to run away from reporters; it’s like they’re coming for my blood,” Tony says, whispering. “How are you, Captain?” he asks and Rhodey closes his eyes, almost ashamed.

“Learn your military hierarchy, _genius_ ,” he mocks. “I’m a Second Lieutenant, I told you at the graduation rave,” he says, reminding him.

“Blossom, it’s cute you think I listened to or even remembered anything remotely relevant in that place,” Tony says.

Rhodey frowns in reply, getting flashbacks. “I still don’t recall how we ended up on the roof—,”

“The best tan of my life—,”

“I think you mean sunburn,” Rhodey corrects.

Tony chuckles a reply. “Anyways, you’ve been good? So much for keeping your promise of not ditching me after school…”

“Hey, I’ve been sending you letters—,”

“You’re living in the past, sweetheart. I don’t have time to read—,”

“Well, I don’t have one of those fancy mobile phones, Tones,” Rhodey says, in good nature.

“I know what I’m getting you for Christmas, then,” Tony says and Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“That’s not why I called—,”

“Right. Mocking me for my new gig. Go on—,”

“Ain’t mocking, Tony. Congratulations,” Rhodey says. “I’m proud of you,” he adds.

“See? I told you, being my friend will get you some benefits with time—,”

“Can you stop ruining the moment?” Rhodey says, sighing.

Tony sighs in reply. “It’s better if we celebrate in person, Rhodey. All this has been— overwhelming, to say the least. I could really use my wingman,” he says, his voice turning down.

“I wish I could. I’m about to head to Texas to continue my training,” Rhodey shares.

Tony’s voice does a full shift when he asks: “Oh, really, how’s that been?”

Rhodey chuckles a breath and rubs the back of his head. “It’s been great. I did it, Tones,” he says, his heart feeling huge with the memory. Tony doesn’t need to know he lost his mark for some godforsaken reason; he only needs the good stuff. “I was up there, in the sky.”

“Shit, honeybear,” Tony breathes. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey adds on. “Anyways, I still gotta do some fourteen more months of another training program and then I’ll be set to go,” he says.

“Go where?” Tony asks.

“Well, anywhere they need me,” Rhodey trails, his voice dropping a note.

“That—sounds fucking grim. Hey, let’s not talk about it,” Tony mutters, gaining a bit of cheer by the last bit.

Rhodey can’t but agree.

They talk for a few more minutes before Tony’s little avoidance tactic wears off and he has to go deal with his current problems.

On his end, Rhodey sits on a bench and waits for his ride to arrive, ready to keep on adding achievements to his belt.

\--

Rhodey’s done with SUPT faster than he thinks, this time the group of other fellow airmen was nicer than the one at IFT; they were more mature, focused on their own stuff, and there were more women.

And after paying his mom a visit for a few days, Rhodey goes to Manhattan to finally take on Tony’s persistent requests that they hang our even though Rhodey just turned 24 and is far more mature than how he was in their college years. But he misses Tony a lot so he braces himself for a little overdrinking and some casual hookup in the next two to three days and knocks on the Stark Mansion’s door just twice.

“Mister Rhodes,” Jarvis greets with a fond smile. “I am sorry, correction, Second Lieutenant Rhodes,” he says, doing a little nod. He’s gotten older since the last time Rhodey saw him –which wasn’t long ago—but he figures it must be the stress of dealing with a genius CEO with a bit of over-the-top ego.

“Mister Jarvis,” Rhodey greets, offering a hand for him to shake because he isn’t sure they’re at the hugging stage just yet.

Rhodey steps in just in time to seen Tony walking down the stairs, sweatpants and a two-size bigger ACDC t-shirt that might or might not have a coffee stain on his chest.

He’s also sporting a clean-shaved goatee now. As soon as Tony spots Rhodey, he finishes running down the stairs, two steps at a time.

Rhodey has to drop his bag to catch Tony’s light ass body when he half-throws himself at him. “Woah, easy, there, spider monkey,” Rhodey breaths, regaining balance.

Tony lets go of him after one squeeze and then punches him in the shoulder. “A whole fucking year,” he says.

Rhodey looks down. Yeah, he’s been busy.

“I know, I’m sorry. Which is why I’ll make up for the absence all of this upcoming weekend,” he says, his arms open.

“Just the weekend?” Tony asks, his eyebrows high.

“It’s the best I can work out before I have to report back in California,” he says.

“Did you get your orders?” Tony asks.

“Not yet. I’m gonna be stationed at Edwards, helping in the Weapons Development department until they need Flight Fighters anywhere else,” he explains and Tony looks down at his feet.

“You know what? We should get started,” he says, after a while and a long sigh.

“On what?” Rhodey inquires.

“Getting wasted. There’s no way in hell I’m talking about you running off to some war zone country in the name of America without alcohol in my system. Jarvis,” Tony speaks and the butler raises his chin as he gets called. “Go get us some drinks, will ya’?”

“You seem to have forgotten your appointment for today,” Jarvis says, a tired smile on his face. Tony blinks in utter confusion and Rhodey turns back to look at the butler, who adds: “You are supposed to pick out your new assistant at Stark Industries, Sir.”

Tony full-on pouts, there’s no other thing to call it but that. “But, Ed, Rhodey is here,” he says; Rhodey contains the urge to laugh at Tony’s absolute child-like attitude.

“And I am sure Second Lieutenant Rhodes understands the importance of being a responsible person and doing their job,” Jarvis says, addressing Rhodey with suggestive eyebrows.

“Sure, Mister Jarvis,” he agrees. “Come on, man, I’ll help you and we’ll be done sooner,” he suggests and Tony sighs, defeated.

Rhodey waits while Tony gets ready for about thirty minutes, sitting in the empty living room. He rolls up the sleeve of his red shirt and looks at his empty wrist; he has to find a time to tell Tony as soon as he can or he’ll be pissed Rhodey didn’t say anything. Rhodey shakes his head and then rolls the sleeve back down.

“Who are you?” Rhodey turns, nearly jumping in startlement”, to find a man standing on the door frame. A six foot guy, with brown hair wrapped in a pony-tail and a _terrible_ mustache stood with his legs open, like he was ready to fight.

Where does Tony get his employees, seriously?

“Harold, Harold, buddy, relax—,” Tony says, stepping into the living room, in a fancy suit. “This is my best friend Rhodey. Rhodey this is Harold Hogan, he’s my chauffeur—,”

“And bodyguard--,”

“I told you, I’m still not sure about that—,”

“Sir, you need to be protected—,”

“Yeah but I’m not sure your résumé is qualified enough to do that,” Tony says and the look the guy gives him makes Rhodey choke on a laugh, which earns him a dirty look.

“Nice to meet you,” Rhodey says, to put the moment behind them, but he’s still smiling.

“Likewise,” Hogan adds, all serious.

“Is he always this happy?” Rhodey asks Tony sarcastically as they start walking to leave the house, Hogan ahead of them on the way.

“ _Ehh_ , he’s fine,” Tony says, waving it off with a hand. “Only has a little of boundary issues,” he adds.

“Gee, I wonder why you hired him,” Rhodey remarks, making a face at Tony.

“Ha, ha,” he fake-laughs in return, and they get inside the car.

The ride to the New York facility consists of Tony telling Rhodey all the crazy stories of what he’s been up as the CEO of Stark Industries (“I mean, yes, I’ve pretty much left all the boring CEO stuff to Obie, which is not what Aunt Peggy wanted, but hey, I get to spend all day in my lab just tinkering with stuff. I gave Dum-E and U another sibling, I call him ‘Butterfingers’, you’re gonna love him”) and Rhodey doing a slightly detailed summary of what his pilot training has been like (“So much dirt-eating, Tony, I swear”), but he saves the worst for last, just as they’re about to go into the building.

“I gotta tell you something but first, don’t freak out, and second, I didn’t tell you because this happened like just a few months after your parents — you know—and I knew you had a lot on your plate, so I didn’t want to worry you or upset you with my shit,” Rhodey begins, grabbing Tony by his forearm before they go inside. Hogan is closely watching him and Rhodey understands what Tony meant about boundaries.

He rolls the sleeve of his shirt up and Tony nearly yanks his arm off by pulling it to inspect. “What the hell happened?” he asks and Rhodey sighs.

“I don’t know, man,” he answers. “My best guess is that they were just turning 18 and,” he gives a vague shrug. “—something bad happened. That would explain why I got it so late and then why it didn’t last,” he says and Tony gives one last look at his wrist.

“So you think they just died?” Tony repeats.

“It’s the only reasonable explanation,” Rhodey provides.

Tony bites his lower lip for a while, gathering his thoughts. “How did it feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve read that when your soulmate dies it’s —kind of a big deal. It’s, it’s like losing a kidney,” Tony says, half-serious, half-joking.

Rhodey gives that a thought but then just shrugs. “Nah, I didn’t feel anything like that. I was just confused, and pissed, but that’s it.”

“But what? Did you watch it as it disappeared or…” Tony trails off, wondering.

“No, it was just — one second it was there, the next it was gone. It felt numb, like, like he fell asleep or something,” Rhodey says and misses the point when Tony gives him a devilish grin.

“’He’, huh?” he asks.

And _now_ Rhodey gets it.

He gives Tony a little punch in the gut and clicks his tongue. “You know what I mean,” Rhodey defends. He won’t talk about his sexual attraction questions with Tony right now.

“Well, and how are you now? You’ve made peace with the fact that you’ve returned to the land of the marginalized, mate-less souls?” Tony asks, starting to walk into the building.

Rhodey shrugs. “I guess. Sulking won’t change anything,” he concludes.

They spend the rest of the morning doing a tiny tour around the facility, where Tony shows him some of the stuff they’re working on and the mentioned Butterfingers bot, after he takes a look at his drunken creation in college that Tony baptized as U.

Then they get on to interviewing the fifteen applicants on the job position to aid Mr. Stark in running a multibillion-dollar company, a list which consists, roughly, of ten really under-qualified women who get caught up in Tony’s flirting championship far too easy, and other five interesting ones.

They’ve just gotten done with a Rumiko Fujikawa that looks quite promising – an internship at Microsoft's HR department and a business major – when Rhodey starts to think maybe they should call it a day. 

“Alright, let’s see who’s next— Virginia?” Tony asks, wrinkling his forehead at the light yellow folder. At the end of the room a young woman, dressed in a black dress skirt and blazer walks inside without a sound. “What kind of name is Virginia?” Tony starts saying, unaware of the new presence.

“Tony…” Rhodey whispers on his ear, warning.

“It reminds you of the word ‘virgin’, nobody wants tha—“ Tony falls silent as soon as his eyes land on the redhead standing in front of him. “ _Hi_ ,” he says, his Tony Stark brand smile on his face, but he looks like he wants to die. Rhodey wants to face-palm himself in second-hand embarrassment.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she says, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“And it is beautiful,” Tony adds, with a serious face.

The woman, tall with her high-heels and long neck, stands there for a couple of seconds but then she sighs. “This isn’t gonna work—,”

“No, wait,” Tony says, standing up, driven by his embarrassment. “You know what? You got the job,” he announces, and Rhodey’s mouth falls open just slightly. “I was just telling Rhodey how I think it’s impressive that you--,” he snaps his fingers at Rhodey to give him something.

“Uhh, ran management at a McDonald’s for eight months?” Rhodey gives, stuttering a little, as he goes through the young woman’s file.

“Right, that and—,”

“—Took three Spanish classes a couple of years ago,” Rhodey says, then his eyes catch something interesting. “Oh, it says here you’ve engaged in work with private think-tank projects in the past,” he trails.

The woman nods. “Yeah, I’ve worked with a close friend, named Aldrich Killian—,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, when can you start working?” Tony asks.

The woman blinks at him and slowly wets her lips. “I am sorry, Mister Stark, but do you actually believe I’m qualified for this position?” she questions, her eyes almost glaring.

“Yes, I do. One hundred percent, right, Rhodey?” Tony answers, turning back to Rhodey sitting behind the big table. “I believe you’re perfect for this position. It has nothing to do with the fact that I just insulted your grandmother’s name and am terribly sorry,” he adds and the woman looks like she’s smacking him in her head.

“Uhm, Miss—Potts?” Rhodey calls after one more check in her file. “Is Monday good for you to begin?” he asks. She looks at him, then back at Tony, fixes her bangs and nods.

“Yes, I believe it is good,” Miss Potts says.

“Great,” Tony adds, with a big smile, because he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Stark Industries is pleased to have you,” Rhodey says, also smiling.

Tony remains smiling until she disappears through the door again and then he drops his shoulder down and turns to Rhodey, making a face. “That was—,”

“Absolutely terrible?”

“I was nearing on soul-crushing, but, yeah,” Tony says, sitting back next to him again and grabbing the file. “You think it was a good call?”

Rhodey takes a breath and readjusts himself in the chair. “I mean, she wasn’t the most impressive résumé here but she did have something,” he says.

“What?”

“She didn’t swoon over you,” Rhodey says.

Tony looks at the door she just disappeared to and hums. “You’re right. Maybe I should work on that—,”

“ _No_. No, no. You don’t flirt with your assistant, Tony. You do not,” Rhodey warns, raising a finger.

Tony waves him off. “Oh, please, like she’s gonna last more than two weeks with me. You really believe there’s anyone other than you and Jarvis capable of standing me for more than a few months?” he asks, rhetorically.

“I guess you have a point,” Rhodey complies, in good humor.

* * *

 

_Mogadishu, 1993_

Rhodey gets promoted to First Lieutenant before getting deployed to the UN’s mission in Somalia not long after, as part of a special operation squadron tasked with interdiction, reconnaissance, and psychological warfare missions against clan leader Mohammed Farah Aideed of the Habr Gidr subclan, who headed the Somali National Alliance.

Aideed had perpetrated an attack on a Pakistani convoy, killing twenty-four soldiers and wounding another forty-four. Making himself the UN’s —and the US’s—top priority on African soil as of 1993.

Rhodey’s been on Mogadishu for three months when he gets a letter from Tony with the rest of his mail. He's smiling a little, thinking what could've possibly possessed Tony enough that he'd decide to write, but as soon as he opens the piece of paper his heart sinks.

Jarvis died.

Apparently, he had a lung condition he never spoke about and one day he got the flu and he couldn't recover. Went to bed and he was gone in the morning.

Rhodey wants to teleport himself to New York to be with Tony just a couple of minutes; he can’t even begin to think how his friend must be feeling like. The butler was the father Tony had always wanted Howard to be, and he was also the last living member of Tony’s family.

Tony was all alone now.

And Rhodey was worlds apart.

"Damn," he breathes, his shoulder aching, right where 'Tony Stark' was written.

For the first time in months, Rhodey desperately wants to go back home.

\--

_Washington, 1994_

After months of more violence and blood than Rhodey would’ve ever wanted to see, President Clinton decided to withdraw U.S. forces from Somalia, deeming it more necessary to put attention in Yugoslavia and in Iraq in support of Kurdish and Shiite minorities.

So Rhodey got to come back home with a few physical scars and far more physiological ones, got the rank of Captain on his shoulders for his services and the promise of going back to fight more fights in the name of America.

“Thank you, sir,” Rhodey salutes, proudly, during his promotion.

It’s not the best part of the job but it makes him feel like he’s closer to doing actual change than most people. It also makes the fact that he has no soul-mate feel less of a burden; if he has no one to go back home to, no one to get hurt if he dies out there, and it makes it easier.

He gets a few days off before he has to go back to Edwards for new missions; does a bit of reading on what’s been going on with the world and is about to book a flight to New York when the news on the TV catch his attention.

“Stark Industries CEO, Tony Stark, has just purchased a new home in Malibu Point, after they opened the headquarters for the multinational company in Los Angeles, nine months ago,” the woman on the TV spoke, as they show footage of Tony’s new home, right there on a hill with a great view of the Malibu beach.

So Rhodey gets tickets to LA instead and feels upset when he can’t phone Jarvis to set up the surprise for his friend. Guess he’ll have to come unannounced.

He rents a car and uses his shiny military dress uniform to bribe people into giving him the proper directions and he’s in the front yard in no time. One knock on the door and he takes a deep breath.

“Miss Potts,” Rhodey remembers as soon as the woman opens the door, just slightly surprised. She blinks at him in acknowledgement but opens her mouth and nothing comes out. “James Rhodes,” he says, re-introducing himself. “I’m Tony’s friend,” he reminds and she nods, a smile on her face.

“Right, the nice man. It’s— Rhodey, right?” she recalls, pointing at him, and Rhodey nods though he’s not used to the nickname anymore; it’s been a while since anyone’s called him that. “Please, come on in,” she says, opening the door for him.

Rhodey takes one look inside of the really bright house –thanks to the wide open windows – and wonders: “So, where is he?”

“He’s—down in the lab. He’s been there since we arrived here, a week ago,” she shares, looking to the other side and sighing. Rhodey looks at her and smiles, she made it, against all odds.

She points him to where Tony’s lab is, some room downstairs, and Rhodey follows into the considerable darkness. When he gets down, he finds his best friend fast asleep on the table, softly holding onto a coffee mug.

Rhodey walks in through the mountains of boxes and scraps and car parts and — is that a pizza box?—and chuckles when he gets to Tony. He pokes him on the shoulder, where ‘James Rhodes’ can be seen through the thin white Stark Industries shirt and Tony groans.

“Pepper, just, one more minute, please,” he mutters into his forearm.

“Not— Pepper? Wait, who _is_ that?” Rhodey says, asking and Tony’s head pops up like a cartoon.

If Tony’s gonna throw himself at him every time he comes back from duties, Rhodey’s gonna have to do something about his back.

“Oh, God, you’re alive,” Tony whispers, once he’s back on the floor.

“Thanks for the vow of confidence,” Rhodey remarks.

“Hey, I’ve spoken to Roberta for the last couple of months just telling her how great I think her son is so, don’t give me that. You know I have nothing but praise for you,” Tony says, only yawning a little. “So, what are you now? Like, General or something?”

Rhodey closes his eyes slowly, shaking his head. “Jesus, Tony, seriously – just one internet search, ‘Military hierarchy’, just read _one_ ,” he mutters and Tony smiles.

“Alright, _Captain_ ,” he says, knowing.

Rhodey gives him a little push on the shoulder and then smiles. “So, what have you been up to?”

At that Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, you’re gonna love this. I’ve been working on him for the entire week, just got it done this morning —or you know, whatever you call 4 AM—, J,” he says out loud, like he’s calling someone. “Say hi, buddy,” Tony adds.

“Good evening,” comes a robotic voice from the…ceiling— or is it the walls? Rhodey stands still with his hands and legs tensed up, ready for an explosion to go off behind his back.

“What— the hell?” he whispers.

“Artificial Intelligence, honeybear,” Tony says, his arms wide open.

Rhodey’s mouth drops. “You mean this whole house is a computer?” he asks, going back to standing straight.

Tony bites his lower lip, the corner of his mouth drawn up, and nods. “But go ahead, talk to him, he’s fun,” he asks, his hands doing a little offering motion.

Rhodey blinks. “Uh—alright, uhm. Hello, my name is—,”

“Air Force Captain James Rhodes. Personal friend of Mister Stark,” the house speaks.

“Why is he British?” Rhodey asks Tony, and he looks down at that.

“Okay, J, introduce yourself,” Tony says.

“I am an artificial intelligence system created by Tony Stark. I go by the name Just a Rather Very Intelligent System, shortened—,”

“Jarvis,” Rhodey interrupts, his eyes up on the grey ceiling, then falling to Tony.

“You think it’s incredibly fucked up?” Tony asks, scratching the back of his head, one hand on his pocket.

“I…think he would’ve been freaked out, for sure, but – it’s your very special way of honoring him,” Rhodey says, shrugging. “It’s pretty neat, Tony.”

“Yeah, I figured he would’ve been proud that I’m not drinking myself to death now—not that I haven’t thought about it—,”

“Tony…”

“You don’t wanna hear that, I get it—,”

“No, I do. It’s just— you’re worthy of living, you know? I know right now it’s hard to feel like it, with all the loss you’ve suffered but, you are. Okay? You’re important to me, to the world,” Rhodey says, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I’ve seen a lot of death over these past few months and I—I feel like I should take a second to mourn those people, to drain all the sadness, you know? You wanna do that with me? We can raise a glass to Jarvis—to _Edwin_ Jarvis,” Rhodey asks, offering something they both needed.

Tony nods slowly just once and then they go raid the minibar he hasn’t finished assembling on the corner of the room. Then they talk and cry until midnight. It’s the best sleep Rhodey’s got in a year and a half.

And a week later, when Rhodey’s about to go back to base, Tony shares quite the piece of information: “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says as Rhodey’s about to get into his rental car. “Obie is quite positive we might be landing a military contract next month,” he says and Rhodey widens his eyes. “They were a bit doubtful at first because they say I’m no Howard but Obie managed to convince them I’m the real deal,” he adds.

“Shit, seriously?” Rhodey asks, still in disbelief.

“Yep. It seems like I’ll be making you and your boys new toys, honeybear,” Tony comments and Rhodey breathes out a laugh.

“If that’s true, please do me a favor?”

“Drop your name for a fancy promotion? Done,” Tony says.

“No. Don’t call me ‘honeybear’. Ever,” Rhodey says, his eyes narrowed.

“ _Fine_ , platypus,” Tony replies. Seriously, how did he come up with _these_?


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the Afghan desert, Tony stands like an imposing statue; looking even bigger than he is with his Armani suit and Carrera sunglasses.
> 
> “Is it better to be feared or respected?” he begins, all rehearsed. “And I say, is it too much to ask for both?” he adds smugly, a few officers behind Rhodey let out a light chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note before heading into this one:
> 
>   1. This chapter contains mentions of Tony's time in captivity as he experienced it in Iron Man (2008), along with a few **suicidal thoughts**. 
> 


_Bern, 1999_

“Half hour ‘til the ball drops,” Happy tells him when he’s too busy staring at one spectacularly intelligent Maya Hansen. He almost doesn’t remember not wanting to come to Bern for the tech convention at all, especially not after everything she told him about the research she’s been working on.

“Tony Stark? Great speech, man!” a guy comes from his right side, all excitement. Happy is in seconds next to him, softly pushing the guy away.

“Hey— I gave a speech?” Tony asks, having no recollection of doing anything other than looking into Maya’s beautiful brown eyes. “How was it?”

“Pitiful,” Happy says.

“Unintelligible,” Maya gives.

“Oh? My favorite kind. A winning combo,” Tony jokes, grabbing on Maya’s hand and starting to walk away from the crowd, Happy ahead of them.

“Where are we going?” Maya asks, amused.

“To town on each other, probably back in your room,” he says, and Maya scoffs. “’Cause I also wanna see your research,” he adds.

“Okay, you can see my research, but that's I'm not gonna show you my town,” she tells him, shaking a finger.

“Mr. Stark?” a man with glasses and almost no hair approaches him. “Ho Yinsen,” he introduces, offering his hand.

Tony takes it and turns around. “Oh, I finally met a man called Ho,” he comments and grabs Maya’s hand again.

“I would like to introduce you to our guest, Dr. Wu.,” the man says, showing him to who the doctor must be.

“Oh, this guy,” Tony says, then puts the party horn on his mouth to get a free hand for the other man to shake. “You're a heart doctor. She's going to need a cardiologist, FIA,” he jokes, right before starting to blow on the horn, repeatedly, then walks away once more.

“Bye,” Maya tells them.

“Perhaps another time?” the man asks, but Tony can no longer hear him.

On the way to the elevator a crowd of fans and reporters way for him, they get past them just fine — Happy’s been getting better at the bodyguard aspect of his job, though he still needs to keep working on his boundaries issue — but by the time they’re getting to the elevator door another guy reaches them.

“Hey, Tony!” he greets, he has a slightly ‘crazy fan’ look going on but he’s not touching him, which is good, Tony’s had really bad experiences. “Wow,” he goes as soon as his eyes land on Maya. “Aldrich Killian. I am a big fan of your work,” he says, shaking her hand.

“My work?” Maya asks.

“Who isn't? She needs me,” Tony cuts in, as they start to get inside the elevator.

“Well, of course. But, Miss Hansen, my organization has been tracking your research since year two of MIT,” he says, walking towards them.

“Yeah, we're full,” Happy tells him, putting his arm as a barrier between him and them inside the elevator.

But the guy ducks under his arms and gets inside. “Oh, wow. He made it. He made the cut,” Tony mutters.

“What floor are you going to, pal?” Happy asks, a wall between him and Tony.

“Oh, now, that is an appropriate question,” he jokes at Happy. “The ground floor. I've got a proposal I'm putting together with myself,” he says, getting some presentation cards out of his pocket. “It's a privately funded think tank called, Advanced Idea Mechanics,” he adds, handing them the cards.

Maya takes them muttering a polite ‘okay.’

“She'll take both. One to throw away and one to— not call,” Tony says and ignores Maya’s offer of one of the cards.

“Advanced Idea Mechanics, or AIM for short,” the man says again, pointing out at his shirt, that has the same thing on, with bright blue letters. “Do you get it?”

“I see that, cause it's on your t-shirt,” Tony replies, fake enthusiasm and then the elevator sounds, announcing their arrival. “Ladies, follow the mullet,” he tells the girls, as Happy walks out first.

“Thank you; I'll call you,” Maya tells their weird fan, getting out, too.

As everyone walks out of the elevator, Tony puts his arm in front of the guy to stop him from leaving. “The notion of working with you titillates me,” he whispers. It’s almost too easy to fool him.

“Yeah?” he asks, wonders in his eyes.

“Yeah, cheese clown. I'm going to ditch these clowns; I'll see you up on the roof in five minutes,” Tony says, coming out. “I'm just going to try to get my beef wet real quick. You know what I'm talkin' about?”

“Oh, okay. I'll see you up there.”

“Damn betcha,” Tony mutters, not turning back.

\--

“If I'm right, we can access the area of the brain that governs repair,” Maya adds, after exposing her project. Tony’s both stunned and aroused. It’s called being sapiosexual.

“Wow,” he says.

“—and chemically recode it,” she keeps going.

“That's incredible. Essentially you're hacking into the genetic— operating system of an organism,” he concludes, with a bit of her help.

“Exactly. Yes.”

“Wow,” Tony repeats.

Happy moves towards one of her plants and runs a hand through it. “Can you— can you not touch my plant. It's not— she doesn't like it. She—,”

“What?”

“—She's not like the others,” Tony says. “Come on. Let's go in the bedroom,” he tells her, grabbing on the laptop and carrying it into the bedroom. “Happy, leave her ficus alone,” he instructs his bodyguard and chauffeur.

Maya turns to Happy, following after Tony. “No, seriously don't.”

“So you're starting with plants?” Tony asks, sitting on the bed.

“For now, yeah. I'm calling it Extremis,” she answers and then joins him. “Well, it's— human application,” she says at the same time he does. “Exactly! Exactly. It's central-degree vitalization.”

“It's revolutionary—,”

“Disease prevention—,”

“It can change the world—,”

“—Even limb regrowth,” she says, a big hopeful smile on her face.

Tony takes a long look at her face, all her features, and takes it in. “You're the most gifted woman I've ever met—,”

“Wow,” she interrupts, not buying it.

“—in Switzerland,” Tony adds, looking down.

“Mm, that's better,” she says, going to take his glasses off.

“You almost bought it, didn't you?” he says, chuckling. But then Maya’s wearing his glasses and smiling widely at him and he can’t remember the last time he felt this drawn to a simple hookup. He takes a breath and stares at her more before they start to lean in for a kiss.

But as soon as his lips land on hers, something explodes on the other room, where Happy’s at.

“This is what I'm talking about, the glitch,” she starts saying, turning to look at the closed door.

“—Have you checked the telomerized algorithm?” Tony wonders.

“The what?” she asks, turning back to him.

At that moment Happy runs into the bedroom and tackles Tony onto the bed.

“Stay down,” Happy whispers into Tony’s ears, all his weight on top of him.

“We’re good,” Tony mutters back, his palms open. But Happy’s whispering to stay down repeatedly. “You're— you're right on me. I made it,” he says, and Happy still takes more seconds before he gets off him.

“What was that?” Happy asks, fixing his long locks.

“It's a glitch in my work—,”

“Look, she was just talking about glitches happening,” Tony says, still lying down. Suddenly, there’s noise outside, and Tony remember what’s tonight. “Hey! Happy New Year,” he tells them. “Alright, I'll see you in the mornin',” he tells Happy, who moves to shake his hand.

“You good?” he still asks.

“Yep,” Tony replies and watches him leave.

“I'll be right outside,” Happy adds.

He kisses Maya softly in all the right spots that night and doesn’t hold it against her when she yanks her right wrist off his grip, before Tony’s eyes can catch what her mark says, or if she even has one.

He figures that’s for the better of them.

And as soon as he wakes up, the next day —the first day of the brand new and promising 2000—, he finds her working on her computer, in her underwear and a white robe.

They don’t talk, but Tony makes sure to leave her a late-Christmas present on his little nametag sticker. Maybe a little something to help with her much visionary project.

* * *

 

_California, 2007_

Tony changes the face of Stark Industries in the blink of an eye; stepping out of Howard’s ever-present shadow and successfully making a legacy of his own. By the time 9/11 happens, Tony’s building weapons for nearly all the branches of the U.S. military. And if Rhodey’s division gets a tiny preference, nobody complains out loud.

Eventually, Rhodey —who is now a Major—becomes a liaison between the military and Stark Industries and starts working on the Weapons Development department of Edwards, giving test-runs to most of Tony’s tech and approving most of the Air Force weapons purchasing.

In no time he becomes sort of a rock star in the base, and the guy most pilot trainees wanna meet when they get there.

“We’re like the perfect combo, buddy,” Tony says, on his 39th birthday —in a surprise party Tony managed to pull while inviting a few of Rhodey’s teammates and not just them and Pepper and Happy like last year’s.

Rhodey clicks his beer with Tony’s cocktail glass and then sips. “I’ve known that since MIT,” he tells him right after he swallows; it’s his eight one, but he feels relaxed enough to let himself go a little. He’s earned it.

“Rhodes?” someone calls behind him at the bar they’re at.

“Álvarez?” Rhodey asks, frowning. His old roommate from IFT stands, in civilian clothes, in front of him. “What are you doing here?” Rhodey asks, offering a hand.

Álvarez takes it and pulls him into a half-hug, patting him on the shoulder. “I come here when I’m off-duty,” he shares. “What about you? You’re celebrating something?” he asks.

Tony, who had been resting his back against the bar table and watched silently as they exchange occurred, goes: “It’s his birthday.”

“Shit. Really?” Álvarez asks, only barely looking at Tony, and Rhodey nods. “Happy birthday— what are you now, Major?” Rhodey nods again. “Well, happy birthday, Major Rhodes,” he says, his olive-brown eyes haven’t changed. Rhodey lets the loose part of his brain stare a little.

“Alright, that’s it, hi,” Tony says, stepping in to stand next to Rhodey. “I’m Rhodey’s best friend. Who are you?” he asks, offering his hand.

Álvarez raises one eyebrow at him, but Rhodey waves his hand off. “Ignore him; he’s territorial. Tony, this is—,”

“Captain,” Álvarez supplies.

“Captain David Álvarez, my old roommate at my first flight training camp,” Rhodey says. “Dave, this is—,”

“He knows who I am,” Tony says.

Álvarez blinks a little and interrupts. “I’m sorry, who are you?” he asks, a frown on his face. Tony’s smile drops but then Álvarez cracks and takes Tony’s hand to shake. “You’re Tony Stark. Number one weapon maker for our boys out there and also this guy’s —hey, what’s the opposite of a sugar daddy?” he says, joking.

“Screw you,” Rhodey curses, but he’s smiling. Tony glances at Rhodey and then back to Álvarez, and he breathes a chuckle. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Rhodey’s drunk ass was smitten.

“So, you’ve been busy,” Álvarez says, making a sign for the bartender to get him something. “As soon as I got back, few days at the base and you’re pretty much what everyone talks about,” he adds but Rhodey waves him off, and misses when Tony quietly leaves them, smiling into his glass. Guess he doesn’t know better.

“Shut up,” Rhodey chuckles. “Got back from where? What’ve you been up to?” Rhodey asks as Álvarez moves to grab his glass of scotch.

“Iraq,” Álvarez says, pressing on the ‘q’ like it’s poison. It makes Rhodey slightly sober.

Rhodey doesn’t ask how it went because he knows far too well all the answers are the same, whether or not the missions are successful or fail. It’s a bloody mess.

So he nods and sits on a stool and waits for Álvarez to take the other. Then raises his beer for him to click his drink.

“So, Major, huh? Already?” Álvarez asks as soon as he sits.

“Yep, already. I got promoted to Captain after going to Somalia in ’94, then it’s been nothing but smooth sailing from there,” he says, and Álvarez nods with a pout.

“Bet it helps that you have the President on speed-dial and little golden boy over there,” he says, joking. He hasn’t changed a bit.

Except that he now looks far wiser than he was when Rhodey met him, somehow more serene, but still slightly shaken.

“What about you? How come you still a Cap?” He asks, intending to be playful, but Álvarez looks down, and his smile turns sad.

“I’ve gotten some disciplinary action— twice,” he says, taking a deep breath. “You know me, always getting into trouble,” he adds.

“Or maybe it’s just trouble getting into you,” Rhodey says, his tongue rolling lazily inside his mouth. Consumed by the power of the 0.02% of alcohol on his system, he tilts his head and smiles far too fondly at his former roommate.

Álvarez bites his lower lip, and that does not do things to Rhodey’s insides; it’s just the shrimp Tony ordered earlier. “It’s really good to see you, James,” he says, sliding his hand to Rhodey’s knee, and he’s not sure what breaks the spell – the fact that Rhodey hasn’t heard his first name in ages, that Álvarez’s mark can be seen clearly as he puts his hand on his leg or the fact that he is putting his hand on his leg.

Rhodey doesn’t move but his face does a full-shift, and Álvarez catches up on it pretty quickly. “I— uhh,” Rhodey stutters, but Álvarez is breathing through his nose, his smile a thin line.

“I am completely misreading this whole exchange, aren’t I?” he asks, rubbing his temple. Rhodey opens and closes his mouth; completely lost on ideas about what to say. “You know what? I’m just –gonna walk out, forget this ever happened—,” Álvarez starts to say, embarrassed, putting down his drink and making his way to go but Rhodey stops him on the spot, a clumsy hand clinging to his.

“Wait, uhm,” he says, then let's go, his hand goes fast inside his pocket.

Álvarez stares at him for a moment and then sighs. “My god, it’s been— what? Almost fifteen years and you’re still in there, man?” he asks, quietly. He’s not pissed or upset; he’s just tired.

Rhodey doesn’t understand what he means — or better yet doesn’t want to understand — and he makes sure his face shows it.

“The closet, dude. You’re still in the closet,” he expands, honest to a flaw like they were still in 1993.

Rhodey stands in front of him, expressionless, and regards Álvarez, who stands taller than him. This is a man –a colleague—he hasn’t seen in years, hasn’t heard of in years; he doesn’t know Rhodey, so he won’t let him get away with an asserted read on his own damned self, hell no.

He’s going to prove him wrong.

So he pulls him by the collar, a few inches down, and kisses him messy on the lips. Álvarez smells like coffee and cologne and his scotch; it takes Rhodey all good of three seconds to gather that before he lets go.

And then he’s panicking. He just kissed another man, and in public, in front of — “Hey, where did everybody go?” Rhodey wonders out loud, coming out of his yet-to-start panicking.

“They left a while ago; I said goodbye to some of them when I got here,” Álvarez explains, but he’s a little out of breath. “It’s just you and me, and Bernie and your buddy over there,” Álvarez says, pointing out with his chin to the other end of the bar, where Tony and the bartender are looking at them, then deflect their eyes as soon as Rhodey turns.

Rhodey stumbles back into his stool, putting his hands on his face. “God, I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m drunk and I—,”

“Did it to spite me?” Álvarez asks, that big ass smile of his coming up again. Rhodey sips his mouth shut, still embarrassed. “Listen— don’t, okay? I have no place to say that sort of shit, I’ve just—been caught up in myself lately, and that makes me an asshole, most of the times. You clearly have questions yourself, and I have no right to push yo—,”

“Uhh, don’t—,” Rhodey groans.

Álvarez falls quiet and frowns at him, but then he softens it and looks down. “You don’t wanna talk about it…Alright,” he says, Rhodey’s not looking at him. “Okay, you know what? That’s fine, and that’s something you gotta figure out on your own so,” he goes over to the table, next to Rhodey, and stands there, doing something for a while. “I’m gonna leave you to it. And once you’re done, and you’ve made decisions,” he says, handing him a napkin, “I’m here, if you need anything. Happy birthday, Rhodes.”

Rhodey grabs the napkin and smiles faintly at him. “Thanks. I’m sorry,” he still says and then watches as Álvarez leaves through the door, waving Tony goodbye by the door.

\--

Next morning Rhodey wakes up with a headache and the smell of freshly made coffee. He steps out of the guest room and walks into the living room, his eyes squinting at the bright light coming out of the huge wall-window.

“Oh, Rhodey, hi, there,” Pepper greets him, just coming out of the kitchen. “Happy belated birthday,” she says, hugging him and then handing him a cup of coffee and an Alka-Seltzer, great present.

“Oh, thank you,” Rhodey mutters, kissing her on her forehead before grabbing the cup and inhaling the warm smell. He takes one long sip, then throws the pill into the cup and turns back to Pepper. “So, where were you last night?”

“Agh, I had to take care of my grandma. Sorry I couldn't make it, but I’m sure you boys didn’t miss me,” she explains and gives him a smile at last.

“I always miss you when I’m left alone with Tony. You’re my back up,” he jokes, comically raising his eyebrows and Pepper lets out a light chuckle. “Where is he today anyway?” Rhodey asks then. Taking another sip of his coffee, the headache smoothly beginning to wear off.

“Where he always is,” she says, rolling her eyes amused.

Rhodey goes downstairs slowly, still sipping on his coffee. Tony — being a kind soul he is — turns the volume of the loud Nickleback playing down and Rhodey's headache thanks him wholeheartedly.

“There you are,” Tony says, fumbling with the Mercedes 230 SL from ‘64 engine of Howard’s old collection. “You ready to talk about what happened last night?” he asks.

No fucking anesthetics.

He looks at Tony expressionless and decides against following the instincts he's been following for his entire career. He looks at Tony – his platonic soulmate and confident in most things Rhodey would never admit having ever done — and decides to go down a different road. The right one.

“So I kissed a guy last night,” he says, almost like he's yawning. Like it's not a bad thing, because it isn’t a bad thing.

Tony rolls on his chair and smiles, his hand clasped together. “Mhm, and how was it?”

Rhodey does a full awed sigh, no shame in it, not anymore. “Fucking good.”

At that Tony nearly beams at him, it makes Rhodey remember the time vaguely during college when Tony drunkenly told him he didn't care about people's gender when he liked somebody and Rhodey promptly told him that that was alright.

They were alright.

* * *

 

_Las Vegas, 2008_

“Tony Stark: Visionary. Genius. American patriot,” the video plays on as it shows images of Tony. Rhodey managed to arrive just in time before the ceremony started, after people from the Apogee Award protocol department approached him to make an appearance, giving Tony his statue.

“Even from an early age, the son of legendary weapons developer Howard Stark quickly stole the spotlight with his brilliant and unique mind. At age four, he built his first circuit board. At age six, his first engine. And at 21, he graduated Summa Cum Laude from MIT,” the montage continues, showing pictures of the times when he met Tony. “Then, the passing of a titan. Howard Stark's lifelong friend and ally Obadiah Stane step in to help fill the gap left by the legendary founder. Until almost a year after his father’s demise, the prodigal son returns and is anointed the new CEO of Stark Industries. With the keys to the kingdom, Tony ushers in a new era for his father's legacy, creating smarter weapons, advanced robotics, satellite targeting. Today, Tony Stark has changed the face of the weapons industry, by ensuring freedom and protecting America and her interests around the globe”, it ends.

In a crowd of applauding people, he steps in. “As liaison to Stark Industries, I've had the unique privilege of serving with a real patriot,” Rhodey begins, a big smile on his face. “He is my friend, and he is my great mentor. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present this year's Apogee Award to Mr. Tony Stark!” Rhodey announces, but Tony's flashy self is nowhere in sight. “Tony?” Rhodey wonders again into the mic until he spots Obadiah sitting next to an empty chair, shaking his head at him, helplessly.

Son of a bitch.

Obadiah steps in for him, as per usual, and gives an acceptance speech Rhodey only hears a little, his mind already wanting to get out of there and finding his rude and irresponsible best friend.

It’s inside the casino – naturally – that he finds him. He's by the dice table, Happy at his back and a woman running her fingers down his collarbone, business as usual.

“You are unbelievable,” Rhodey greets.

“Oh, no—did they rope you into this?” Tony asks, just a little ashamed.

“Nobody roped me into anything—,”

“I'm so sorry—,”

“—but they told me that if I presented you with an award, you'd be deeply honored,” he says, stepping a little in between the woman and Tony.

“Of course I'd be deeply honored, and it’s you, that's great! So when do we do it?” Tony asks, all fast talk and booze.

“It's right here,” Rhodey says, showing Tony the little statue.

“There it is. That was easy,” Tony mutters after asking for another round. “I'm so sorry,” he adds, taking the prize off Rhodey's hands.

“Yeah, okay,” Rhodey mutters back.

Tony hands the woman the prize, going: “Wow, would you look at that? That's something else; I don’t have any of those floating around”. He makes his new bet then, “We're gonna let it ride!” he yells and takes the dices into his fist. “Give me a hand, will ya'? Give me a little something-something,” he tells the woman, putting his hand in front of her face for her to blow at it faintly. “You too,” he says, putting the hand in front of Rhodey.

“I don’t blow on a man's dice,” Rhodey says. Not on the uniform, he doesn’t.

“Come on, honey bear,” Tony mutters and really, keep the damn code.

“I don’t blow a man's dice,” Rhodey says again, hitting Tony’s wrist harshly.

“There it is. Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes rolls!” Tony shouts as the dice rolled off his hand and landed him on nothing good.

“That’s what happens,” Rhodey shrugs. That’s what he gets for outright endangering his reputation.

“Worse things have happened, I think we're gonna be fine,” he says and then tries again a couple of more times ‘til he gets some 1000 bucks after losing the triple of that.

He says goodbye to Tony just shy after 1 AM and then he's landing back to California, settling in his spare room at Edwards. In a few hours, Tony will get to present his new baby to Rhodey’s new superior, General Gabriel, and it could land him on a sooner promotion.

\--

_Van Nuys Airport, 2008_

It’s ten hours later when he sees Tony again, behaving like a child again. “What’s wrong with you?” it’s the first thing he says, his arms wide open.

“What?” Tony asks he's still smiling because of whatever thing Happy and he were talking about.

“Three hours—,” Rhodey says.

“I got caught doing a piece for Vanity Fair,” Tony says, coming up.

“For three hours— for three hours, you got me standing here,” he keeps going.

“We’re waiting on you now,” Tony says, passing by his side and into the plane, Happy behind him with the bags.

“Do I put them here, sir?” he asks Tony once they’re inside, pointing at one of the empty seats.

“Yep, there is great, Hap,” he says, sinking into one of the chairs. “Now leave before Rhodey pops a vein or something,” he jokes, and Rhodey glares.

“Did you get me my thing, Happy?” Rhodey asks, sitting in front of Tony.

Happy nods and takes the paper out of his jacket to hand it to Rhodey. “So, when do I come get you?” he asks Tony and Tony turns to Rhodey, his eyebrows questioning.

“It should be tonight, somewhere around 10 PM. Unless Tony finds himself tangled in doing another piece and further jeopardizing my career,” Rhodey says, still glaring a little.

Tony only rolls his eyes. “I'll tell Jarvis to notify you after we land. See you later, Hap,” he says.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t be going there? You might need some protection—,”

“Happy, we already talked about this. I’m gonna be with Air Force finest here. You can’t get any more protected,” he says.

“Don’t worry, it's a secluded area, away from the action, and he won’t even be there long. You know I wouldn’t let him go there if it wasn’t safe,” Rhodey adds, reassuring.

Happy leaves with a long sigh and they take off just minutes after. They’ve been up in the air for several minutes when the silence starts to bother Tony.

“What are you reading, platypus?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Rhodey replies, flipping a page of his paper. Damn Phillies lost again.

“Come on, sour patch. Don’t be mad,” he says.

“I’m not sour— I told you, I’m not mad, I’m indifferent, okay?” he says, looking back at Tony.

“I said I was sorry,” Tony repeats before one of the flight attendants shows up.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” she says politely.

“Hi. I told him I was sorry but he…” he trails off at the woman, who offers him a hot towel.

“I’m just indifferent right now. You don’t respect yourself, so I know you don't respect me—,”

“I respect you—,”

“I’m just your babysitter, so when you need your diaper changed – thank you – let me know,” Rhodey says, taking one towel.

“Hey, heat up the sake, will you?” Tony asks the flight attendants, completely changing the subject.

“We're not drinking. We're working right now,” Rhodey says, frowning.

“You can’t have sashimi without sake,” Tony comments and Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“You are constitutionally incapable of being responsible,” Rhodey deadpans.

It’s an absolute pattern of all their college life: they have to do something important – Tony manages to get alcohol into the mix – Rhodey says he won’t drink – Rhodey ends up drinking anyway.

After a few sips, they’re sitting on one of the couches in the back, flight attendants attempting to do a pole dance, as Rhodey’s explaining to Tony why is important to him to be part of a system and failing at making Tony see he could be so much more than what he already is.

It’s like no time has passed really.

\--

_Bagrām, 2008_

In the middle of the Afghan desert, Tony stands like an imposing statue; looking even bigger than he is with his Armani suit and Carrera sunglasses.

“Is it better to be feared or respected?” he begins, all rehearsed. “And I say, is it too much to ask for both?” he adds smugly, a few officers behind Rhodey let out a light chuckle.

“With that in mind, I humbly present the crown jewel of Stark Industries freedom line. It's the first missile system to incorporate our proprietary repulsor technology. They say the best weapon is one you never have to fire, I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it, that's how America does it...and it's worked out pretty well so far. Find an excuse to let one of these off the chain, and I guarantee you the bad guys won't even want to come out of their caves”, Tony says before motioning for one of the assigned airmen to point the missiles to the empty field far in the back and firing just one. “For your consideration, the Jericho,” Tony presents, before a huge explosion goes off at his back, the wave of air it made making him move on his spot.

Everyone claps and then he walks towards his special suitcase, that’s a portable mini fridge.

“We throw one of these in with every purchase of 500 million or more. To peace!” Tony says, raising his glass of whiskey, and then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Tony,” Obadiah greets on the screen, shirtless and in bed.

“Obie, what are you doing up?” Tony asks, after taking a sip.

“I couldn't sleep till I found out how it went. How did it go?” he asks.

“Went great, looks like it's gonna be an early Christmas,” Tony answers, making his way to the Humvee.

“Hey! Way to go, my boy,” he celebrates. “I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Why aren't you wearing those pajamas I got you?” Tony says instead before Obadiah says his goodbyes. He gets into the Humvee and hears Rhodey call for him. Tony closes the door before Rhodey can reach it.

“Hey, Tony,” he says.

Tony peeks out through the window. “I'm sorry; this is the fun-vee. The hum-drum-vee is back there,” he tells him.

“Nice job,” it’s the only thing Rhodey says, smiling at him.

“See you back at base,” Tony replies, looking back at him.

\--

It all happens in a messy, fast blur, like most bad, catastrophic things. One minute he's talking about the Maxim models experience of last year, laughing with a couple of young American soldiers, the next he's watching them die on him, getting fucking exploded to kingdom come.

But when he wakes up everything goes piercingly slow. He breathes into consciousness, in a dark cave, something going from his nose all the way down his throat.

He turns desperately, and he spots him; another man in the room, shaving his stubble in a tiny glass. Tony seeks to take advantage of his distraction and tries to move, but something tied to his chest doesn't let him. Instead it announces he's awake.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man says in rusty English.

Tony turns back again to see a car battery at the other end of the wires on his covered chest. The fuck. With shaking fingers, he starts to rip the bandage off his aching chest until it’s exposed. A magnet right between his ribs.

He's fairly certain his heart fails because the next thing he sees is all black.

He wakes up the second time and sits up slowly. The stranger hands him a warm, ripped towel to clean his face, pull himself together and a mirror.

Tony looks at the man's little mad work and can’t come up with simple answers. “What the hell did you do to me?” Tony pants.

“What I did?” he asks, then gives a little chuckle. “What I did was to save your life,” he says. “I removed all the shrapnel I could, but there’s a lot left, and it’s headed into your atrial septum,” he explains, and Tony gets even sicker in his stomach. “Here, wanna see? I have a souvenir. Take a look,” he says, handing him a small bottle with pieces of shrapnel inside. “I've seen many wounds like that in my village. We call them the walking dead because it takes about a week for the barbs to reach the vital organs—,”

“What is this?” Tony interrupts, expecting the final blow.

“That is an electromagnet, hooked up to a car battery, and it’s keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart,” he explains.

Tony takes a deep breath and zips the hoodie up, in one of the dark corners of the cave some bastards are expecting him to crack.

“That’s right. Smile,” the man says, once he notices Tony spotted the camera. “We met once, you know? At a technical conference in Bern,” he adds.

“I don’t remember,” Tony mutters, eyeing the rest of the room, see if they’re the only ones there.

“No, you wouldn't. If I had been that drunk I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a lecture on integrated circuits,” he says but Tony’s far from listening.

“Where are we?” he asks.

He knows it’s the wrong question the next second because somebody’s at the door, speaking in a language he can’t understand, and the man changes completely from his otherwise calmed stance.

“Stand up!” he orders Tony, grabbing him by his forearm and pulling him up from the bed. “Do as I do,” he whispers. “Put your hands up,” he says, doing so.

Tony follows him almost absent-minded and sees his captors coming in, holding Stark weaponry. “Those are my guns. How did they get my guns?” he wonders.

Next, to him, the old man is panicking. “Do you understand me? Do as I do,” he repeats.

In front of him, a big man walks in, his face looking satisfied, even excited. He opens his arms and starts speaking in another language as he walks towards him. Tony catches his name just before the man finishes and then asks the old man to translate for him.

“He says, ‘Welcome, Tony Stark, the most famous mass murderer in the history of America,” the man repeats, in English.

The bearded man in front of him speaks again, looking oddly friendly.

“He is honored,” the old man explains.

Then the bearded man speaks again, his voice raised higher, as he opens up a piece of paper he was holding in his hand.

“He wants you to build the missile—the Jericho missile that you demonstrated,” the old man translates, then he takes the piece of paper of the bearded man’s face and shows it to Tony. “This one,” he adds, Tony barely needs to look at it.

He eyes them all, making sure to capture them all in his memory before he says, stoic: “I refuse.”

They try to drown him at least four times a day, for a whole week, and each time Tony gives them the same answer.

The third day he begins to wish the shrapnel would follow its damn course and get it over with. But death never comes, doesn’t matter how much Tony hopes for it.

It’s been ten days when they let him outside for the first time. A bag on his face and the car battery held tightly in his arms.

He starts walking through their little summer camp when he sees it: an arsenal of his weapons and ammunition. In enemies hands.

“He wants to know what you think,” the old man translates for Tony after they walk through the place.

“I think you got a lot of my weapons,” Tony mutters at the bearded man’s face.

The man walks around Tony, opening his hands, talking in the language Tony doesn’t dare to name and waits for the old man to repeat in English. “He says they have everything you need to build a Jericho missile. He wants you to make the list of materials — He says for you to start working immediately, and when you're done, he will set you free,” the old man explains.

Tony’s smart enough to differentiate an offer from a threat.

“No, he won't,” he says, shaking the man’s hand with a fake smile.

“No, he won't,” the old man repeats, nodding for the bearded man’s benefit.

They return to the cave and Tony does what he’s been doing since he got there whenever they’ve left him alone; sit and stare at the fire, thinking how can the story of him end this way.

He thinks of everything he hasn’t done.

He thinks of everything he’s done.

He thinks of Rhodey and Pepper and JARVIS and Happy and his bots. He thinks of his broken life.

He thinks about a soulmate that doesn’t exist.

“I'm sure they're looking for you, Stark,” the old man says, suddenly, behind him. “But they will never find you in these mountains,” he adds, then sits next to him and puts his hands together. “Look, what you just saw— that is your legacy, Stark, your life's work in the hands of those murderers. Is that how you want to go out? Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark?” he asks. “Or are you going to do something about it?—,”

“—Why should I do anything?” Tony cuts him off, not raising his voice. “They're gonna kill me, you, either way, if they don't, I'll probably be dead in a week,” he adds.

The man pauses, tilts his head to the side, and concludes: “Well, then, this is a very important week for you, isn't it?”

He instructs all of them of what he needs to build anything remotely useful, he doesn’t let them know of the current state of his heart and its particular predicament – they don’t need to know. And well, if he’s dead, he can’t build them their precious missile, so…

He needs to fix himself first.

\--

“How many languages do you speak?” he asks the man who’s become his sort of companion, trying to gather more information about their captors, a day later.

“A lot, but not enough for this place. They speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian,” he explains. Tony just caught a bit of Russian a couple of days ago, but nothing he could make out.

“Who are these people?” Tony wonders, while disarming one of his old missiles.

“They are your loyal customers, sir. They call themselves The Ten Rings,” he says.

Ten Rings. He’s never heard anything of them, not even from Rhodey.

“You know, we might be more productive if you include me in the planning process,” the man says, kneeling beside him.

“Mhmm,” Tony agrees, and then finishes taking the piece of the missile he needed the palladium from. The first step to trying to replicate an arc reactor.

“What is that?” the old man asks.

“That's palladium, 0.15 grams. We need at least 1.6, so why don't you go break down the other eleven?” Tony says.

They work just fine together; Tony’s surprised just how easily they do – other than Rhodey, he’s not the type of guy who works well with other people.

“Careful. Careful, we only get one shot at this,” Tony says, holding his car battery as he watches the old man get the melted steel out of the fire.

“Relax, I have steady hands. Why do you think you're still alive, huh?” he says, pouring it into the mold Tony made just before.

“What do I call you?” Tony asks, about seventeen days late.

“My name is Yinsen,” he says.

“Yinsen, nice to meet you,” Tony mutters.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he repeats.

\--

It takes him six and a half more days, but he gets it done. He would’ve been happy about it if it wasn’t for the fact that he was kidnapped by a possible terrorist organization, which had somehow got a hold of his tech, right after getting blown up to near death and having pieces of metal trying to reach his heart every second of his life now.

“Wow, that doesn't look like a Jericho missile,” Yinsen says, once he notices the reactor glowing.

“That's because it is a miniaturized Arc Reactor. I got a big one powering my factory at home. It should keep the shrapnel out of my heart,” Tony explains.

“But what could it generate?” Yinsen asks.

“If my math is right —and it always is— three gigajoules per second,” Tony answers.

“That could run your heart for the 50 lifetimes,” Yinsen says, a little breathless.

“Yeah. Or something big for fifteen minutes,” Tony says. Time for the other project. He stands and goes to his desk, grabs the pieces of paper and puts them together in the right way. “This is our ticket outta here,”

“What is it?” Yinsen wonders.

“Flat them out and look,” he says before he does it himself. Showing the special, metal suit weapon that can quite possibly help them escape.

“Impressive,” Yinsen breathes, a small smile on his face.

\--

“You still didn't tell me where you're from,” Tony tells him, just minutes after they’re done putting the arc reactor inside his chest.

“I'm from a small town called Gulmira. It's a nice place,” Yinsen says, shaking dices inside his hand while they play.

“You got a family?” Tony asks, looking at the table.

“Yes, and I will see them when I leave here,” he replies. “And you, Stark?” he asks back.

Tony rubs his empty wrist and Yinsen doesn’t miss the movement; the man has probably already seen Tony doesn’t have a soulmate mark when he was unconscious after he saved his life.

“No,” Tony still mutters, with a tiny smile on his face.

“No?” Yinsen repeats, doing a tiny nod. “So you're a man who has everything... and nothing,” he adds.

There’s no hurt in the truth.

\--

They’ve been working on the special weapon for three months when their captors start to get doubtful until one day someone different comes to the cave. He’s bald and looks far more in charge than the man with the beard.

“Relax,” he tells Tony, and Tony lowers his hands from his head. He walks towards him, like a lion slowly walking towards its prey, and puts his fingers on top of his chest, on top of the arc reactor. “The bow and arrow once was the pinnacle of weapons technology. It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to Ukraine, an empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and four times the size of the Roman Empire,” he speaks, walking around the cave. “But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands, and soon, it will be my turn.”

He stands in front of Tony, studying him, trying to see his weakness, and then he’s talking to Yinsen, a conversation Tony doesn’t understand.

It isn’t anything good, because soon Yinsen stutters an answer and then he’s forced down to kneel. The bald man grabs a burning carbon from the fire and grabs Yinsen’s head.

“What does he want?” Tony asks, his heart rate rising.

He puts the carbon in front of Yinsen’s face, and the man starts to yell something with the Jericho missile in it, repeatedly.

“What do you want? A delivery date?” Tony asks, again, taking one step towards them before the rest of the other fifteen men point their guns at him. He stops, but so do they. “I need him,” he says. “Good assistant.”

“You have until tomorrow to build my missile,” the man says, before disappearing with his small army through the door.

It’s now or never.

\--

_Washington, 2008_

“Attention!” General Gabriel shouts, just before they get on the plane. “As you were,” he instructs. “Colonel, a word?” he addresses him.

Rhodey follows him outside the line. “Sir?”

“So, you’re really going through with this?” he asks, for the third time this week.

“I’m going back there, sir,” Rhodey says, unflinching. It’s his fifth trip back to Afghanistan since Tony was captured — his fifth try in the mission of finding his best friend that has otherwise been unsuccessful—, but the mark on his shoulder grows fainter each day and Rhodey can’t sit and wait ‘til it’s too late.

General Gabriel looks to the other side before going back to Rhodey. “It’s been three months without a single indication that Stark’s even alive. We can’t keep risking assets, least of all you,” he says.

“Are you blocking my transfer now?” Rhodey asks, frowning.

Gabriel puts his hands on his hips and leans just a little closer. “You know, any one of these guys would walk through fire to have your career. Are you telling me you’re willing to sacrifice that to go fly around with a bunch of snake-eaters in the off chance you’re gonna find your friend in the middle of the desert?” he asks, his voice tough.

But he doesn’t know Tony keeps Rhodey grounded, at the end of the day. He doesn’t know Tony makes him laugh, drives him up the wall, scares the shit out of him and marvels him — all at the same time. He doesn’t know Tony’s the one constant thing in his life that’s not related to him by blood or some distant fellow military colleague. Tony is his family, his platonic soulmate. Gabriel doesn’t get that.

So all Rhodey can say is: “I am, sir,” with unshaken faith in Tony and in his own ability to find him, even if he has to dig through every single field of sand in all the Middle East.

“Then I have only one thing to say to you, Colonel: Godspeed,” he says.

“Thank you, sir,” Rhodey replies swiftly, saluting him.

\--

_Afghanistan, 2008_

Rhodey feels like he can finally breathe as he spots him –shouting and waving a hand frenetically—, it’s like suddenly air is back in his lungs. He falls to the ground, on his knees, with his hand up high, doing a peace sign as Rhodey lands just a few meters away from him.

He runs up through the sand and stands just a few steps away from Tony’s small, sitting body. “How was the fun-vee?” he says, his breath rushed.

Tony only smiles, his shoulder giving a little shake.

Rhodey puts his hand on his shoulder and kneels in front of him. “Next time you ride with me, okay?” he tells him, his throat closing in a knot before he pulls Tony closer, to rest his forehead on Rhodey’s collarbone.

Rhodey’s got him. He is safe.

\--

Rhodey waits impatiently outside the medical room at the Bagram base while they try to check Tony out before he starts to hear yelling and something metallic. Rhodey steps in to find Tony at one side of the room and the doctor and his nurse at the other. “Colonel, we just need to check his wounds,” they explain.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Tony says. “Rhodey,” he calls, turning to him. “I’m alright, I just— I need to get out of here, now,” he adds, his hand trembling.

“Tones, I understand, but you need to let them check you out, alright? Make sure everything’s good,” Rhodey explains.

Tony looks at him and then back to the medical staff, and he lowers his head then sighs. “Not everything,” Tony says. He swallows hard before he takes off the Air Force jacket they gave him on the ride there, exposing some light coming out of his chest like a magic trick.

Rhodey steps in the way to the door when the medical staff tries to make a run from it, just out of instinct. “Tony?” he calls, but he’s only looking at the doctor.

“It’s not a bomb,” Tony says, softly. “It’s an arc reactor feeding an electromagnet inside my chest, keeping pieces of shrapnel from entering my heart,” he explains, not once looking up.

“An arc reactor? Like the one at SI?” Rhodey wonders, the doctors are slowly approaching Tony, who nods at Rhodey’s answer.

“It’s not gonna cause any harm, I promise,” Tony tells the doctor, who is just silently staring at Tony’s work.

“That is…surprisingly not infected,” the doctor says. “We need to run several tests, Mister Stark,” he says.

“And I will. Back home,” Tony repeats, at that something in the doctor’s eyes shift. Understanding, perhaps. “I promise you. I just need something for my shoulder, something to clean up a bit and then I’m good to take the ride back to our beloved homeland,” he says, and the doctor nods.

Rhodey’s about to go back outside before Tony asks him to stay.

“It’s better if you’re here,” Tony mutters and reaches out his hand for Rhodey to take it, hold it, just as the doctor is looking at his wounds, and then lets Tony squeeze as hard as he can when they move his shoulder back to its place.

Some forty minutes later, they’re leaving the medical room. “There’s a room where you can get cleaned up; there’s a shower and—,”

“No showers,” Tony cuts, his eyes unsteady, like he’s having flashbacks. Rhodey nods just once. “Just— just give me some wet towels and some deodorant and cologne, I’ll be good to go,” he adds.

When Tony sees the sun again, his knees go weak, and Rhodey has to put himself behind him to catch him in midair. After that, Tony doesn’t object to using the wheelchair while he gains his composure back.

\--

_California, 2008_

They arrive at Edwards with absolutely no delay. Rhodey only asked him about anything he knew on the Ten Rings, and Tony provided them with everything he could, carefully omitting just how he got out, managing to say he “created a few weapons” that aided him in his escape. Rhodey didn’t buy it, but his superiors did, and he didn’t keep on pushing it.

He knew Tony would tell him if and when it’s necessary.

So he holds onto Rhodey’s hand and steps out of the plane, ready to start his second try at life, even eager to do so.

“Your eyes are red,” it’s the first thing he notices when he sees Pepper, in all her work dress-suit gear, like no time has passed and she’s ready to go back headfirst into work, good. “Few tears for your long lost boss?” he adds.

Pepper smiles a faint but satisfied smile. “Tears of joy. I hate job hunting,” she jokes back.

Tony picked his platonic soulmates well.

“Yeah, vacation's over,” he says and then moves towards the car, where Happy is waiting, holding the door open for him. Tony looks at him and draws the corner of his mouth up, behind Happy’s glasses he can’t really see him, but Happy hold himself still, stiff, hesitant on what to do. “You’re not gonna say ‘I told you so’?” Tony wonders, tilting his head a little.

At that Happy breaks out of it, smiling and lowering his head. “I— I’m just really glad you’re back, sir,” he says.

“Me too, Hap,” Tony says, patting him on the shoulder. Yeah, he was back into the world, and this time it was gonna be for a reason because if he survived through all the things he’s survived, he’d be damned if it was for nothing.

\--

Which is why, a few months later, he doesn’t regret it when he says it.

“Truth is…I am Iron Man,” Tony declares into the mic, into the world. He’s managed to build this perfect, good thing out of a shitty situation –even more shitty turn of events, when you come think of it — so he might as well take some pride in it.

Rhodey – who’s been the first person to know — is looking down and failing at acting like he’s shocked. At the end of the room, Pepper is shaking her head slowly. Ok, why the long faces? They’re friends with Iron Man; they should feel awesome right now.

But Tony learns, in time, that coming out with that brings more problems than anything else.

Whatever, then, Iron Man — he can take it.

* * *

 

_Odessa, 2009_

It’s been just hours since he’d been woken up and he’s already running through mountains, driving at top speed in a motorcycle that lets him know enough it’s been years since he was last alive.

In the corner, the black vehicle makes a turn to his way. He uses his special goggles to catch two heat signals inside, one of them his target.

Hiding behind the trees, and at a long range, the shot is too easy, so much it almost makes him asleep. The front tires are done in a second and the car spins just right off the cliff, rolling down the hill and just stopping by a big tree, two hundred sixty three feet down.

He uses the goggles again and catches the same two heat signals, although weakened, just getting out the crashed car.

Behind the rear sight of his rifle he spots the engineer, shielding behind a redhead woman. One shot through her into his throat, right into his carotid, and then he watches the engineer choke on his blood for a few minutes.

Right on top of the cliff, out in the open, back into the world.

\--

_Washington, 2009_

“Asshole!” someone yells at him when he misses the red light and keeps driving ahead. His heart racing, his mind in near state of shock.

Just two days before his forty-first birthday, James is back on his wrist.

He pulls over in front of a bookstore and takes several deep breaths. “What the hell?” he wonders, rolls slightly more up the sleeve of his dress uniform and takes a better look. “What the hell is going on?” he mutters to himself.

But then he’s pulled out of his head when the phone rings.

With shaky hands, he drags the device to his ear just before checking the caller. “Yes, sir?” he salutes, catching his breath.

“Colonel, where are you?” he asks.

Rhodey blinks and then runs a hand through his face. “I was—I got caught up in traffic, but I’m on my way. Should be getting there in ten,” he says.

“No, don’t bother coming here. Talk to Major Jewett at the Pentagon, she’ll provide you with an office you can use—,” he says.

“An office?” Rhodey wonders.

“Yes, Colonel. The Senator is asking something different from you,” he says.

“Well, what is it?”

“He needs you to write a report on the Iron Man suit. He’s pretty positive he can take his case to court—,”

“Sir, what— I, I thought we were discussing this behind closed doors,” Rhodey interrupts.

“The man’s gonna try to get reelected. He thinks this might help him get half the public,” General Blendis says.

“I hardly see how pulling a witch hunt on Iron Man will help his public image,” Rhodey comments.

“Well, Colonel, not everyone sees Stark with the same eyes that you do,” he replies.

“Trust me, sir, I’m not ready to build up a monument for him, but other people are,” Rhodey replies back.

“Listen, this is politics — nothing neither you nor I should be too concerned about. All Senator Stern wants is for you, as head of the Weapons Development department and one of the best airmen we’ve got, to give your input on that armor of your little civilian friend’s. You’re the only expert on this we can use as a reliable source,” he explains.

“Other than Stark, you mean,” Rhodey says.

“Yes, Rhodes, we like you better than him,” the General says, and Rhodey holds his sigh. “You think there’s any chance you can get a hold of one of those things?”

_Like hell he is._

Rhodey’s not interested in being a hero; he just wants to keep Tony out of trouble –mostly from himself.

“I wouldn’t count on that, sir,” he says into the line.

He should’ve fucking known better.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So the Dodgers are tied, 4-4. And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field,” the voice echoes in the room and he moves his head just enough to catch the rest of the room.
> 
> It takes his body a few seconds to stop feeling numb but he manages to sit up on the bed.
> 
> “The Phillies have managed to tie up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on. Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favour?” the voice sounds around the room and it clicks, he remembers that, his first time on a baseball field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pretends like I wasn't gone for ages* Hello, people, I hope everything's good. A few things to note about this one:
> 
>   1. This chapter is unbeta'd — people who usually help me are busy and I hate to bother them. (If anyone's interested in helping a demigirl whose native tongue isn't english, please let me know in the comments, I'd love to get as much help as I can). So, you know, bear with me, I guess.   
> 
>   2. I feel like I should apologize for the huuuuuge time jump in the fic but I figured, we don't really need to revisit Iron Man 2 events. I'm also sorry this is a short one after all the time I've gone (again, bear with me). 
>   3. WARNINGS FOR: not-very-detailed panic attack and depressive thoughts. 
> 


_New York, 2012_

His eyes slip open slowly, with careful patience. He takes a deep breath and waits for his sight to adjust, his muscles numb on top of the soft, warm surface he’s on. He eyes the ceiling inch by inch and then he hears it, vaguely in the background.

“Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So the Dodgers are tied, 4-4. And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field,” the voice echoes in the room and he moves his head just enough to catch the rest of the room.

It takes his body a few seconds to stop feeling numb but he manages to sit up on the bed.

“The Phillies have managed to tie up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on. Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favour?” the voice sounds around the room and it clicks, he remembers that, his first time on a baseball field. He turns to the window and then realizes the voice is coming out of the radio. “Pete leans in. Here's the pitch. Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo. Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher's going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get him”, the man says, right before a woman sweeps into the room.

“Good morning,” the brunette woman says, then checks her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?” she adds, all constricted likeness.

“Where am I?”

“You're in a recovery room in New York city,” she answers.

“The Dodgers take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game indeed,” the voice on the radio says.

“Where am I really?” he asks, after taking a pause.

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” she says, smiling in an acted confusion.

“The game, it's from May, nineteen forty-one. I know ‘cause I was there,” he explains and her entire face changes. Slowly he gets up from the bed, ready to get real answers. “Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?”

“Captain Rogers—,” 

“Who are you?!” he yells, right before two other men in black gear show up. They make up to grab him but he kicks one in front of the other with enough strength they both go flying right through the wall, exposing a different room outside.

He stumbles his way outside and eyes the empty, metal grey room.

“Captain Rogers, wait!” the woman yells in the back but he just starts running his way out, any way possible. “All agents, code 13! I repeat. All agents, code 13!” her voice sounds through the place.

He finds himself in a building with wide, bright windows and people walking around in nice suits, takes a whole second to take it all in before they notice him and he has to go running again.

He hits the streets of New York but they look like no place he’s ever been, it’s all flashes and light and cars that look smaller and shinier than he’s ever seen. He runs one block before it all becomes too much too handle.

_Where the hell was he?_

He stops and breathes and then he notices it, faintly in the back of his mind like a far, distant place. He’s in a New York street.

Except every Ad is different and everything’s covered in some kind of colored TV, all people are dressed in an odd fashion and even the air feels different.

Black cars circle around him and he feels like he can’t breathe. “At ease, soldier!” someone yells from his back. He turns to find a man with an eye-patch, all dressed in black.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Colonel Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., you would have known us as the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” he introduces himself.

“Where am I?” he asks.

“Forty-six and Broadway,” the man replies, taking one look. “I'm sorry about that little show back there, but—we didn’t know what your mental state might be so we thought it best to break it to you slowly,” he says, approaching him.

“Break _what_?” he asks.

“You've been asleep, Cap,” the man says. “For almost seventy years,” he adds.

Seventy years. He’s been frozen in the artic sea for nearly an entire century. “How am I alive?” he asks, frowning just a little.

“Well, to be honest with you, we don’t really know. Our doc says it was suspended animation; it could be Doctor Erskine’s formula, I don’t know,” he says.

“What about the war? Did we win?”

“Hell yes, unconditional surrender,” he answers. “Taking down Hydra was a big part of that. But the world hasn’t changed all that much, there’s still a lot of work to be done; a soldier’s work,” he says, slowly, almost rehearsed. “The world can still use a man like you, Cap,” he adds, extending a hand for him to grab and shake, which he does. “There’s a place here for you,” he offers, but all that’s been ringing in his ears is seventy years.

He’d been late for almost seventy years.

“You gonna be okay?” the man asks after he turns back again.

“Yeah. Yeah. I just...I had a date,” he replies.

“I am sure you have questions, there’s an apartment with your name in this building,” he says, handing him a piece of paper with an address in Brooklyn. “In there you will find a package with information on everything you missed,” he instructs.

He looks at the piece of paper once more and then pouts. “Is it too much trouble to ask you to take me there? I—I don’t know if the bus still exists,” he says.

Nick draws the corner of his mouth up and then moves his head, motioning for him to go into the car.

After they leave him in the quietness of the apartment, he can’t even bring himself to cry. He really thought dying in the cold arctic ocean was the worst result he could get from crashing that plane.

He didn’t count on _this_.

He closes his eyes and he sees it, crystal clear in his memory like no time has passed. The frozen horizon over the artic sea, with the sun looming in just right to give a perfect light to it.

 _“Please, just be there,”_ Peggy begged into the com and he can still hear her here, in the quietness of this room.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, and puts his face into his palms and cracks, his back rolling down the door until he falls on the floor, his legs open, bent to support his elbows as he cries into his hands.

He never made it back. They never found him.

She lived without him now he’ll live without her.

He presses his fingertips on his eyes and then cleans the tears off his face, his head still down and he knows he’d be nursing a migraine right now if he could.

He’s rubbing his temple when he notices, only a blur on his right wrist before he can take a proper look at it.

“What…” he whispers, running his fingers through it. That wasn’t there before.

He stands up and runs to the kitchen sink to clean it, pouring water into it as he rubs with his thumb but it does nothing.

‘Anthony Stark’ is permanently written on his skin.

He steps out of the kitchen slowly, his mind rushing with different thoughts, until he sees a black device on top of the table. He walks to stand in front of it carefully, and it’s then that he sees a tiny paper on it with the message: “Use it to catch up – N. Fury”.

He bites his lip and presses the tab, it’s like no computer he’s ever seen, but, he’d better get used to feeling like that. “With the forces of darkness pressing in, coming east from the west, America leads in the fight for freedom. And in the front battle, shoulder-to-shoulder with our boys is Captain America!” a man on a video starts saying, showing footage from his old movies. “A product of exciting new science, Captain America is the name every nazi fears. He’s out there, fighting for the land that we love and he won’t sto—,” he presses what looks like the off button and the screen goes black.

In the dark screen he sees his own reflection and recognizes every bit of his face, unchanged, untouched, frozen in time. Just like he is.

Next to the laptop he finds the package Nick talked about. He takes one more look to his wrist and hopes to find answers in the yellow folder as he rips it open, but all he finds is sadder news.

All of his Howling Commandos had lived a good life and had passed away, some of them a while ago, others just recently. He’s putting aside James Montgomery’s file when he sees hers.

 _Peggy_.

It’s the only one that doesn’t have that haunting red sign on top; instead it gives a ‘current address’ as 57-J Merryweather, Westchester, UK and a phone number. He takes a look at the room and finds the phone in the corner, at the back, and for a split second he actually considers it.

But what on earth could he possibly say?

Deciding against it, he lowers the file back and continues his journey of seeing all of his past friends, now as nothing but filed memories. He sees Howard and is swiftly brought back to the present time, the present problem.

‘Could it be…’ he thinks vaguely, his eyes wandering through the single page on Howard until he spots something different: lying on the table is another file, different from the others, new.

His hand almost shakes as he picks it and his heart does a flip when his eyes land on the important piece of new information.

_‘Stark, Anthony’_

Howard’s son.

He throws himself into the bathtub, with his clothes on, and lets the shower wash all over him just to get his chest to ease the fuck up.

\--

After some eighty minutes of sitting just staring at the wall and contemplating how absurdly ridiculous his life turned out to be, he steps out, finds a plaid shirt and a nice brown leather jacket on the fully-stocked closet and decides he needs to take a walk. Or maybe twenty.

‘The world hasn’t changed all that much,’ Nick had assured and that’s what he holds onto as he walks in the streets of this new world and takes everything in. He has no idea how but even the sky looks different.

He watches the news on a TV in a store from outside and learns what he had much gathered after his escape, it’s in color now, women are far more prominent –that’s a good thing, and, just like Nick had said, the world still needs help. War and violence are still alive and walking around.

He sees the new cars, new computers (“And that’s a laptop, sir”), new clothes and even new food.

He asks for directions to a place where he can sit with a nice view and it gets him to a little coffee shop a few blocks away from his apartment. He sits and listens to the people talk and go on about their day; anxiety just looming in the back of his throat.

Then he remembers what he used to do when he was starting to get anxious or nervous or just overwhelmed: drawing.

“Uhm, miss,” he calls a blonde waitress that was just passing by. “You think you could give a napkin and borrow me a pencil?” he asks, his head just tilting a little.

“Sure, of course,” she says, smiling widely, then takes a piece of paper out of her apron and hands him a pen, but before he reaches for it she pulls it away, close to her chest. “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asks, her eyes closing a little.

Now, _that_ was the first time he heard something like that.

He lowers his head and smiles bitterly. “I used to be, a long time ago,” he says, then raises his face again.

She hands him the pen again and this time he does grab it. “Well, welcome back,” she adds with a smile, before leaving into the store.

He’s been drawing for a few fifteen minutes when she passes by him again, and stops next to him to look at his sheet.

“Waiting on the big guy?” she asks, her interest peeked.

“Ma’am?” he asks, confused.

“Iron Man,” she says, turning back to look at the tower building behind her. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by,” she adds.

He takes a look at the tower himself. Standing tall and imposing behind a crowd of smaller buildings, with a big, bright, and honestly a little tacky ‘Stark’ sign almost on top.

He thinks that’s exactly what Howard would be like in this eccentric and excessive future.

“Right,” he says, and just like with calling Peggy, he backs down. “Maybe another time,” he says, but he’s not sure he means it.

* * *

_Manhattan, 2012_

Tony steps out from under the brand new and updated version of War Machine just after he’s done doing the final adjustment. “Alright, J, run the simulation and let me know how long ‘til Rhodey gets here so I can give him the good news,” he says, sipping from his water bottle.

“Very well, sir. The simulations should be done in about fifty-two minutes and Colonel Rhodes is arriving at 6 PM,” his AI says.

Tony’s eyes roll for a sec in the air until he looks at the clock hanging on the wall, it’s just about to be 1PM, right on lunchtime. “Ok, so, where’s Pepper?” he asks, grabbing a wet towel to start trying to clean his hands as he presses the button to call the elevator.

“She’s on the main floor,” Jarvis says before the elevator springs open, showing multiple men in jumpsuits and tight and dirty white shirts and ok, pornos made this look _way_ better.

Tony steps in with the uttermost effort at not making gag noises as soon as the smells hit his nostrils and instead tries to focus on getting his hands clean. Just as he’s about to rub his right one he spots some odd, black lines on his wrist. He rubs it with the towel, too, and then takes another look.

He catches _‘Steven Rogers’_ before he faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, NOW we're getting started. 
> 
> I will try to get done as much as I can before Endgame comes around and kills us all. Remember a comment encourages me to write faster ;)


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Pepper wonders but they’re world’s away, Tony’s focused on the fact that an alien God seemingly got his hands on a special alien object with unclear power capacity.
> 
> On top of that, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already brought _him_ into the whole thing, which meant, pretty likely, that if Tony went anywhere near the action chances of running into _him_ were damn high.
> 
> Tony stares at the footage in front of him and takes a deep breath, bites his lip as memories of Howard’s endless speeches about the holy greatness of Captain America, all while he remained too busy to even play ball with Tony, flash in his mind and make his stomach twist.
> 
> Of all the guys on Earth, it had to be _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Once again, this chapter is unbeta'd — I still can't work it out, getting someone to help me correct this work so, I'm still looking for help, if anyone's interested in giving it. In the meantime, bear with me.   
> 
>   
> 
> * Personal story time I thought you guys probably should know: **I live in Venezuela** , and as you may or may not know, things are quite difficult at the moment in the country (we're on fire,basically, if you wanna know more just google it up a bit, 'cause it's A LOT). That being said, I'll have you know, on March 7 the country went through a complete, nation-wide blackout and I spent more than 100 hours without electricity. Afterwards, we're still experiencing irregular inconvinients with power (that resulting in me being gone from Tumblr & like, the rest of internet, for about a week or longer). The good news is: I've managed to keep on writing so we still have a few chapters ahead as I post this one. The bad news: I'm not entirely sure when I have or won't have electricity and internet to post the chapters (or even get them properly corrected), so, yeah, if I don't post until after Endgame, then you'll know it's 'cause of this shitshow I call my country. 

_Manhattan, 2012_

With a choked up noise, his eyes pop open. The noise makes Rhodey jump on his chair and Pepper run up to him.

“Tony,” Pepper calls, hands on Tony’s chest.

He plainly ignores her and goes for his right wrist. “Fuck!” Tony yells, shaking it, once he notices Steve fucking Rogers is still on his wrist.

“Woah, woah, relax,” Rhodey says, opening his palms at him, but Tony's too busy growling at his arm. “Ok, what's wrong? Use your words,” he asks.

“You didn’t fucking see?” Tony asks, waving his wrist at Rhodey’s face.

“Yeah, you got a mark, man. Congratulations,” Rhodey says, only half-sarcastically. Tony almost feels like punching him, but he only glares. “C'mon, dude, ain't that what you wanted?”

Tony closes his eyes, feeling like he could almost cry from the frustration. “Not like this— _fuck_ ,” he mutters and then looks at them, both confused.

“Alright, I don’t get it. What’s so wrong about Steven Rogers?” Pepper asks him. Tony lets his arms fall to his sides and then looks at Rhodey, who’s expecting him to elaborate, too.

“Oh, really, _you_ don’t know who that is either?” Tony asks him and Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“Ok, yes, that’s Captain America's real name but what’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s the actual guy, Tony. The dude’s been dead for ages,” Rhodey says and then Tony remembers, his head falling down.

“You don’t know,” Tony says, looking at the floor. Now the confusion in their eyes is growing bigger. “Pep, you remember the fund for the Arctic Research Team?” Tony asks the CEO of his company.

“The one that runs investigations for global warming in the Arctic?” Pepper asks and Tony tilts his head, closing one eye just a little.

“Well, that’s not exactly what they did—but I did donate money to actual teams that are working on that,” Tony says, opening his palms at Pepper when she starts glaring. “That team was actually paid for by Howard and what they did was search for Captain America in the ocean. I found out about it when I was fourteen. He always would be sending some money there and I thought, you know, maybe he had another secret family overseas but turns out it was just his obsessed ass looking for his ex-boyfriend or whatever—,”

“Tony—,”

“Anyways—when he died I considered killing the thing, you know, stop funding it. But…somehow I felt I was doing him one last disrespect— I decided against it, it’s not okay to spit on him when he's not around to defend himself anymore,” Tony says, moving one shoulder up. “So, they kept doing their thing, right? And they'd send me reports but I didn’t want anything to do with it so I trashed it right to spam mail, never read a single one—until two weeks ago, when they contacted me to say they had found him,” he finishes.

“They found Captain America? Alive?” Pepper inquires.

“How the hell would I know?” Tony asks.

“Well, didn’t you answer the call?” Rhodey cuts in.

“Yes but I freaked out, hung up. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, didn’t you hear me? I did all of it to please Howard's ghost, I don’t give a crap about Captain America!”

Rhodey puts his hands together and takes a deep breath. “Well, biology doesn’t seem to agree,” he says, raising his eyebrows at Tony's wrist.

Tony stares at nothingness. “I’m chopping my arm off,” Tony deadpans, making to walk to the worktable but they put their hands on his chest.

“Ok, take a breather—I’m about to make your day slightly better,” Pepper says, a small smile on her face.

“Really? Right in front of Rhodey? I’ve had this dream,” Tony says, trying for a humorous tone.

Pepper rolls her eyes in reply and Rhodey shakes his head silently. “ _No_ , not like that,” she says, and begins rolling the sleeve of her blouse.

Tony stops her, putting his hands on her wrist. “No, Pep-- that's, that’s personal, you don't have t—,”

Pepper smiles at Tony and then takes Tony’s hands off her slowly. “I only didn’t show it to you when you first asked me because we weren’t close enough. Then I’d thought you’d think different of me and then I got to know you and I knew you wouldn’t but—I don’t know, I guess I kept waiting for the perfect moment to tell you and something always happened, either you’d get kidnapped by terrorists or slowly killed by poison or some psycho Russian or—,”

“Alright, I get it, I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble,” Tony says, widening his eyes.

Pepper smiles fondly at him and then twists her wrist for him to read. In deep black, thin lines, ‘Maya Hansen’ is written.

Tony feels a knot in his throat as his eyebrows form a straight line. Well, shit.

“Uh,” Tony says, slowly, almost groaning. “I know who that is—,”

“Me too. She’s a famous biochemist, has written a couple of papers—,”

“No, Pep, I— I _know_ her,” Tony repeats, his eyes widening comically. Pepper stares at him for a little long and then her mouth falls slightly open. Rhodey’s facepalming himself behind them.

Pepper takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to say something, then closes it and smiles, shaking her head just once. “You know what— it’s alright, I mean, I kinda already knew you’ve fucked your way around about fifty percent of Earth’s population, right?” Pepper says, but her voice sounds rough.

“I wouldn’t have done that if you had told me sooner—,” Tony begins but Pepper shoots him a look, like she’s about to open holes in his head. “Not that I’m saying it’s your fault—,”

“Whatever,” Pepper mutters. “My point was for a long time I wish I’d gotten someone else, something easier to explain to really judgmental and close minded catholic parents but then I realized I’d either rejoice in it or just plainly moved on, there’s no point in being mad about something I have no control over,” she says, giving a shrug. “And that I can’t do anything to change it,” she adds, putting a gentle hand on his face.

Tony bites his lower lip and looks behind Pepper’s back at nothing. “So, essentially, you’re telling me to ignore this?” Tony asks.

Pepper moves one shoulder up. “Or rejoice in it,” Pepper repeats.

“Yeah, I’d rather just chop my arm off,” Tony says again, turning on her only to be stopped by Rhodey.

“Tony,” Rhodey says, his palm on his chest. “If you chop your arm off, it’s gonna appear in the other and if you chop that one too, it’s gonna appear on your forehead, you dumbass,” he scolds, hitting Tony just slightly on his forehead.

Tony rolls his eyes, like he’d ever maim himself over stupid Captain America.

 _‘But maybe there’s something I can do,’_ Tony thinks just right before remembering this young, promising geneticist he met at a science convention in South Korea last year.

“Wait, I know who can help,” Tony says out loud, and Pepper and Rhodey just watch him go over to the work table to pick his phone.

“Alright, I gotta go talk to some investors— can you see he doesn’t cause himself harm?” Pepper shares, then talks to Rhodey, who nods at her, and gives him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing out of the lab.

“Who are you videocalling?” Rhodey asks Tony once the line sound begins ringing in the room.

“Just— wait. Hey, Doctor Cho?” Tony says into the camera of his phone, his shiny Tony Stark brand smile on.

“Mister Stark…how— I’m sorry, how did you contact me?” the Doctor asks, just slightly shaken in surprise. Rhodey walks over to Tony and looks over his shoulder.

“I have my ways— listen, I have a question about soulmate marks. I was wondering if you could shed some light into it,” Tony begins and she blinks at him. “Is there any way to undo the process, you know, kinda wipe the thing off?”

“You mean your mark?” the Doctor wonders and Tony nods. She takes a breath and looks around herself before answering: “Some tech’s being developed so people can numb down the part of the DNA coding that gives you your mark,” she shares. “It’s all very untested and I’ve heard it has demonstrated different kinds of outcomes. The one considered most successful being total erasure of your mark but it comes at the cost of some significant biological damage,” she says.

“Like what, growing another head?” Rhodey blurts, too submerged in the conversation.

“I’m sorry, that’s my friend James Rhodes. He’s a rocket scientist, too,” Tony introduces. Rhodey only waves slightly, waiting for her to keep talking.

She gives a little courtesy nod. “Anyways, no, what you’re referring to is mutation. What I mean is some serious medication dependency, from hormones to insulin and sometimes even oxygen masks. The last hard case I heard of was a woman getting skin cancer because of a clandestine treatment on her mark; the German government even issued an informative letter alerting their population about this,” she says.

Tony gives Rhodey a glance and then turns back to her. “So, would you advice against going through this kind of procedures?” Tony asks.

“I mean, there are also plenty successful subjects –about a few dozens of them each continent—and people can live a happy, normal life while on permanent pill treatments and the sorts. It’s really up to you—,”

“Oh, no, this isn’t for me,” Tony cuts in.

“Right. Let me guess, this is for a friend?” the Doctor asks, her tone sarcastic.

Tony doesn’t even wait a beat. “Matter of fact, it is,” Tony declares, and puts a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder. “Rhodey here keeps having his mark appear and disappear randomly, for years,” Tony says and Rhodey opens his eyes at him. “We were wondering what it could be?”

“I haven’t heard of something similar. Have you had that checked?” Doctor Cho asks Rhodey, who blinks in reply, still lost at how this turned around to him and his permanent life question.

“He’s in perfect health,” Tony answers for him. “So, that means it’s his soulmate, right? Maybe they’re getting these illegal procedures?”

“They’re not illegal, per se. Not that many casualties have happened, at least not on record, to make it so – it’s more of a medical recommendation not to do this, it’s not like getting an abortion though I’ve already seen groups pulling some BS about it, just like they do with abortion. I say it’s up to anyone who wants to go through it that’s whiling to accept this is a developing science and might come with a price,” she explains. “But if there’s nothing wrong with you, then, yes, I’d argue it might be your soulmate trying to get rid of their mark, and that resulting in your random loss of it,” she adds, looking at Rhodey.

Rhodey lets that sink in. His soulmate is trying to get rid of him, has been trying for a long time now.

“What about you, Doctor? Do you advice against going through this?” Tony brings back the subject and the doctor just moves one shoulder up.

“Again, Mister Stark, it’s really just your decision. But if it were me, I’d wait a little, until this has been developed further. I’m sure you understand that technology is moving quickly than ever imagined, you helped making it so,” she says, smiling at last.

“Biology isn’t my field,” Tony adds, drawing the corner of his mouth up.

“If it was, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” she says and Tony gives her a faint smile. “If you’re really decided for it, I can do some research on the safest places to get it done. Call it a favor I’ll surely collect some time,” she offers.

Rhodey gives him once glance and then turns away.

“Nah, I’m good, I was really just curious,” Tony says, faking some cheerfulness.

“Well, offer still stands. Don’t go hurting yourself out there,” she says and Tony gives her a smile before ending the call.

Rhodey sighs and raises his eyebrows at him after she’s gone. “That was really out of fucking nowhere,” he says.

“Now we have a good guess about your little wrist situation,” Tony says, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

“I thought we were discussing _your_ situation,” Rhodey retorts.

“And don’t you always complain when I make everything about me?” Tony asks.

“Tony…”

“Look, I’m gonna go drink until this thing gets blurry on its own. You either join me or go,” Tony says, opening his hand as he points it towards the door.

“You’re seriously not gonna try to reach him?” Rhodey asks, crossing his arms.

“And say what exaclty? ‘Hey, nice to meet you, I spent all of my childhood mentally shooting darts at your head as I drowned in hate but destiny seems to think it’s fucking hilarious to make our souls be bound to one another’?” Tony asks, exasperated.

“Maybe not that,” Rhodey mutters.

“I’m not gonna go anywhere near him,” Tony adds.

“What if he comes looking for you?” Rhodey shoots back.

“Well, then – I trust Happy’s brand new security team will act accordingly,” Tony says, taking one second to think.

“Tony, you can’t just shut the door on Captain America’s face,” Rhodey says, rubbing his temple.

“You know I defy government officials on a monthly basis, right? Avoiding Captain America would be as easy as reading the paper online,” Tony says, going over to serve himself his first drink. “Last call, you’re joining or not?”

Rhodey stares at him for a good minute and then lets out a breath. “Nope. I actually came here to tell you the news personally,” he says and Tony frowns at him. “I’m going back to the desert, Tones,” Rhodey says, almost like tiredly.

Tony takes a while to take that in before he asks: “Where specifically?”

“Nowhere specifically. We got some leads on the Ten Rings and now that we’ve proven War Machine is ready for action with mutual agreement, we think we might have the upper hand,” Rhodey explains.

“How long?”

“Until I’ve killed or captured all of them,” Rhodey says.

“That sounds like a lot of time,” Tony says, his face going sad.

Rhodey walks towards him with a soothing smile. “Not with that pretty suit you just updated,” he says, pointing with his chin at the War Machine armor Tony was going to show him. “I promise I’ll return before you even notice,” Rhodey adds. “In the meantime, promise not to do something stupid until I get back,” he asks and Tony presses his lips in a thin line.

“I wouldn’t count on it, I mean, you’re fifty percent of my impulse control,” Tony says.

“I trust Pepper is the other fifty?” Rhodey asks and Tony nods slowly. “Then you’ll be fine,” he adds, patting him on the shoulder.

Tony gives him a tight hug and whispers a ‘be safe’ to his ear before he’s off again to the very first hell-on-earth Tony ever truly knew.

 

\--

_Brooklyn, 2012_

The following week Steve signs up on a gym one train stop away from his new apartment, after deciding staying in bed without sleeping, drowning in nightmares and over-thinking, will do him no good.

The files on his untouched desk get heavier every day and he considers calling Peggy almost every five hours, still cowering from doing it in the end.

Punching is easier; it’s familiar – unlike the rest of things nowadays.

He lets his muscles work and tighten and drip with sweat and it feels regular, safe. Like nothing has changed.

But everything has and he can’t keep his mind from reaching those dark, edgy corners of reality, of memory. Of him dying to save his country and the world but still managing to come out of it all alive, of losing Bucky, of Peggy’s plea for him to go back to her. Her word that he wouldn’t be alone.

Well, he was all pretty freaking alone now.

He sends the punching bag flying across the room and lets out a deep breath, it’s the fourth one this week. He moves around and grabs another bag, puts it up just as he hears someone come in.

“Trouble sleeping?” a voice comes from the back door. He turns just barely to find the man from the former S.S.R. standing.

 “I slept for 70 years, sir. I think I've had my fill,” Steve answers, still throwing punches at the bag.

“Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world,” Nick says, making his way towards him.

Steve looks at him for a long second and lets another breath out. “When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won, they didn't say what we lost,” Steve says, taking the gauze off his hands and stuffing them in his bag on the bench.

“We've made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently,” Nick admits, a folder in his hands.

Steve almost smiles at that. Guess some things never change, then. “You here with a mission, sir?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world?”

“Trying to save it,” Nick replies, offering the folder open to show him pictures of the cosmic cube.

“Hydra's secret weapon,” Steve mutters, taking the folder in his hands and sitting on the bench.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Nick tells him, after Steve flips through the files. “He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs,” Nick explains.

“Who took it from you?” Steve wonders.

“He's called Loki. He's— not from around here. There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know,” Nick says, almost tiredly, like he’s already lost a battle.

“At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me,” Steve comments, standing back up from the bench.

“Ten bucks says you're wrong,” Nick says as he goes back to grab one of the punching bags and throws it up his shoulder. “There's a debriefing package waiting for you back at your apartment,” he adds, as Steve walks away with a glance back. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?” he asks.

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

Like him.

\--

_Manhattan, 2012_

“We’re good to go on this end. The rest is up to you,” he tells Pepper over the line as he flies through New York buildings.

“You disconnected the transition lines? Are we off the grid?” Pepper asks.

“Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy,” Tony says, glad to have finally finished his latest project.

“Assuming the arc reactor takes over and actually works?” Pepper retorts.

“I assume. Light her up,” Tony asks and Pepper does. In all the shiny, big metropolis of New York, the Stark Tower lights up, standing out from the rest.

“How does it look?” Pepper asks.

“Like Christmas, but with more...me,” Tony replies.

“Gotta go wider on the public awareness campaign. You need to do some press. I’m in DC tomorrow, I'm working on the zoning for the next three buildings,” Pepper says, all business and no play.

“—Pepper, you're killing me. The moment, remember? _Enjoy_ the moment,” Tony says before landing on the balcony of the tower and starting to have his armor removed.

“Sir, Agent Coulson of SHIELD is on the line,” JARVIS shares.

“I'm not in. I'm actually out,” Tony says, still outside.

“Sir, I'm afraid he's insisting,” JARVIS says again, after a fast minute.

“Grow a spine, Jarvis. I’m busy,” Tony tells his AI just before coming inside.

“Levels are holding steady...I think,” Pepper tells him, staring at the holograms.

“Of course they are, I was directly involved,” Tony comments, approaching Pepper. “Which brings me to my next question, how does it feel to be a genius?”

“Well, ha, I really wouldn't know now, would I?” Pepper says, smiling at him.

“What do you mean? All this, came from you,” Tony says, pointing at her.

“No. All this came from that,” Pepper repeats, pointing at his arc reactor.

“Give yourself some credit, please. Stark Tower is your baby. Give yourself— twelve percent of the credit,” Tony says, putting his hands on Pepper’s shoulders.

Pepper smiles turns into a frown in a flash. “Twelve percent?”

“An argument can be made for fifteen,” Tony adds.

“Twelve percent? My baby?” Pepper repeats, walking barefeet towards the champagne. 

“Well, I did do all the heavy lifting. Literally, I lifted the heavy things. And sorry, but the security snafu? That was on you,” Tony reminds her.

“Oh,” Pepper says, serving them glasses of champagne.

“My private elevator—,”

“You mean our elevator?”

“It was teeming with sweaty workmen,” Tony says.

“Hmm, is that why you fainted?” Pepper asks, quirking one eyebrow.

Tony glares at her just a little and then rolls his eyes, it’s better to just forget last week even happened, and yet, he has a mark on his wrist to prevent him from doing just that.

“I'm going to pay for that comment about percentages in some subtle way later on, aren't I?” Tony asks instead, sitting on the couch, taking the glass.

“Not gonna be that subtle,” Pepper tells him, wrinkling her nose a little.

“I'll tell you what, next building is gonna say 'Potts' on the tower,” Tony offers.

“On the lease,” Pepper retorts, smiling.

They click their glasses just before JARVIS comes up again. “Sir, the telephone— I'm afraid my protocols are being overwritten,” he says.

“Stark, we need to talk,” the agent says as Tony sighs.

“You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, please leave a message,” Tony says, staring serious at the phone.

“This is urgent—,”

“Then leave it urgently,” Tony retorts but the next second the elevator door is opening to show the Agent guy standing inside. “Security breach. That's on you,” Tony tells Pepper.

“Mr. Stark,” the Agent guy greets.

“Phil! Come in,” Pepper greets back, a smile on her face.

“Phil?” Tony asks, frowning.

“I can't stay,” the Agent guy says, walking in.

“Uh...his first name is Agent,” Tony says, following after Pepper.

“Come on in, we're celebrating,” Pepper tells the Agent guy.

“Which is why he can't stay,” Tony mutters, a fake smile on his face.

“We need you to look this over, soon as possible,” Agent guy says, offering a special folder to him.

“I— don't like being handed things,” Tony tells him, awkwardly.

“That's alright, ‘cause I love to be handed things, so, let's trade,” Pepper speaks, taking the folder from Agent guy and giving him her glass. “Thank you,” she says, after taking the glass from Tony and handing him the folder.

Tony sighs before he tells the Agent: “Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday.”

“This isn't a consultation,” he clarifies.

“Is this about The Avengers?” Pepper blurts out. “—Which I know nothing about,” she quickly tries to save.

Tony walks over to the worktable with the special tab folder. “The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought— and I didn't even qualify,” Tony says, turning to the Agent just one time.

“I didn't know that either,” Pepper lies.

“Yeah, apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others,” Tony tells him, assembling the tab.

“That I _did_ know,” Pepper adds.

“This isn't about personality profiles anymore,” Agent guy says.

“Whatever— Miss Potts, got a sec?” Tony calls for Pepper, who excuses herself and goes over to him. “You know, I had this whole Stark Tower thing planned for a reason?” he whispers.

“Really, what? Making sure the world knows you’re tackier than anyone could ever imagine?” Pepper jokes.

“No— I figured if we made enough noise in the science community, one particular Maya Hansen could pop up, you know, return. This could’ve improved your chances of meeting her,” Tony explains, just glancing back to Agent guy for a quick second.

Pepper raises hey eyebrows and nods. “Really?” she asks and Tony gives a vague shrug. “Well, now, I got about 12% of chances of meeting her, then,” Pepper adds, as promised, not subtle at all. “This seems serious, Phil's pretty shaken,” she says, changing to the subject at hand.

“How did you notice? Why is he _Phil_?” Tony asks, turning his eyes back to Agent guy again.

“What is all this?” Pepper asks again, just as Tony’s finished opening all the files and placed them as holograms in front of them.

“This is uh...This,” Tony says, looking at all the information S.H.I.E.L.D. has on the former Avengers candidates. Captain America standing particularly in front of him.

“I'm going to take the jet to D.C. tonight,” Pepper whispers, starring at the dude with the Hammer. “You have homework. You have a lot of homework,” she adds.

“You know, I never really was the homework type of guy—,”

“Tony, you can’t ignore this,” Pepper tells him, turning to him. “I know you said you wouldn’t go within a mile radius of him but this looks bigger than that,” she says and Tony bites the inside of his cheek. “Just get it done quickly,” she adds, putting one reassuring hand on his face before leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Then we’ll discuss if we can arrange me meeting my soulmate,” she whispers, a promising smile on her face.

Tony returns the smile. “Square deal,” he agrees. “Fly safe,” he says, smiling at her.

“Work hard,” Pepper whispers before giving him hug. “Any chance you driving by La Guardia?” she asks Agent guy, reaching him by the elevator.

“I can drop you,” Agent guy replies.

“Fantastic. I wanna hear all about the cellist, is that still a thing?” Pepper asks him inside the elevator; Tony’s barely catching on it, now focused on the Cosmic Cube his father found years ago while searching for Capitan Frostypants. 

“She moved back to Portland,” Phil says.

“What?” Pepper wonders but they’re world’s away, Tony’s focused on the fact that an alien God seemingly got his hands on a special alien object with unclear power capacity.

On top of that, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already brought _him_ into the whole thing, which meant, pretty likely, that if Tony went anywhere near the action chances of running into _him_ were damn high.

Tony stares at the footage in front of him and takes a deep breath, bites his lip as memories of Howard’s endless speeches about the holy greatness of Captain America, all while he remained too busy to even play ball with Tony, flash in his mind and make his stomach twist.

Of all the guys on Earth, it had to be _him_.

Tony closes the files and decides to focus on Doctor Bruce Banner instead; maybe the answer to get the upper hand is there.

\--

_Somewhere in the sky_

“So this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum that was used on me?” Steve asks, looking at the videos of a giant green man S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him.

“A lot of people were. You were the world's first superhero. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine's original formula,” the man who came to pick him up at his apartment an hour before – Coulson – explains.

“Didn't really go his way, did it?” Steve asks, as he sees the man flip a tank over his head.

“Not so much. When he's got that thing though guy's like a Stephen Hawking,” Coulson replies but Steve doesn’t know who that is. “He's like a smart person,” Coulson supplies. “I gotta say, it's an honor to meet you, officially,” he says, after a long second, and Steve smiles at him. “I’ve sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping,” he adds and Steve’s smile drops. “I mean, I was— I was present while you were unconscious from the ice. You know, it's really, it's just a...just a huge honor to have you on board,” he keeps going as Steve stands up and goes over to the front of the jet.

“Well, I hope I'm the man for the job,” Steve says.

“Oh, you are. Absolutely. Uh...we've made some modifications to the uniform. I had a little design input,” Coulson shares.

“The uniform? Aren't the stars and stripes a little...old fashioned?” Steve asks, trying not to look sad at how much everything keeps changing.

“With everything that's happening, the things that are about to come to light, people might just need a little old fashioned,” Coulson says, almost nostalgic.

\--

They arrive at aircraft carrier in no time and a redheaded woman begins approaching them as soon as they step out of the jet. Steve recognizes her from the debrief package, but he can’t remember her name.

“Agent Romanoff , Captain Rogers,” Coulson does the introduction.

“Ma’am,” Steve says, nodding politely.

“Hi,” she replies to him and then directs her eyes back to Coulson. “They need you on the bridge, they’re starting the face-trace,” she tells him.

“See you there,” Steve tells Coulson before he walks away.

“It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice,” Agent Romanoff addresses him, with a friendly manner, as she begins to walk. “I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?” she adds, as they’re making the war around the carrier. 

“Trading Cards?” Steve wonders, a little amused.

“They're vintage, he's very proud,” the Agent drops before they spot the doctor in gamma radiation Steve had just been reading about.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve calls him, as the doctor turns from one of the planes.

“Oh, yeah, hi, they told me you'd be coming,” he greets Steve, shaking his head and looking at him upside down.

Steve’s gotten used to that. “Word is you can find the cube,” Steve tells him.

The doctor gives him a polite smile and puts his hands together. “Is that the only word on me?” he asks, looking around him.

“Only word I care about,” Steve assures him and the doctor nods at him, buying it.

“Must be strange for you, all of this,” the Doctor comments just as a group of cadets pass by them, joggling in formation.

“Well, this is actually kind of familiar,” Steve says.

Behind them, Agent Romanoff stands still as she says: “Gentlemen, you may wanna step inside in a minute. It's gonna get a little hard to breath.”

“Flight crew, secure the deck,” a command comes from the speakers and the carrier starts to shift beneath them.

“Is this is a submarine?” Steve wonders, walking towards the edge; the doctor by his side.

“Really? They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?” the Doctor asks humorously and then they take a look.

Out of the ocean, a turbine appears and starts, along with other three around the carrier, and takes them off the sea into the sky.

“Oh, no, this is much worse,” the doctor adds before they walk inside, into the command area of the carrier.

Everyone inside is giving different kinds of orders and Steve just stuffs his hands in his pockets and admires the view.

 “Gentlemen,” Nick greets them and Steve doesn’t forget his bet and hands him the ten-dollar bill, which Nick takes without comment.

Steve walks over to the big window and bathes in the bright blueness the view is offering. “Doctor, thank you for coming,” he hears Nick say in the back.

“Thanks for asking nicely. So, uh...how long am I staying?” Doctor Banner replies.

“Once we get our hands on the Tesseract, you're in the wind,” Nick answers.

“Where are you with that?” the Doctor asks.

“We're sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet,” Steve hears Coulson say as he goes near him. “Cell phones, laptops— if it's connected to a satellite, it's eyes and ears for us,” he explains as Steve catches Agent Romanoff kneeling in front of a computer to swipe around information on a man.

“That's still not gonna find them in time,” Agent Romanoff says.

“You have to narrow the field. How many spectrometers do you have access to?” the doctor asks Nick.

“How many are there?” Nick asks back.

“Call every lab you know, tell them to put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm based on basic cluster recognition. At least we could rule out a few places,” the Doctor instructs, taking off his jacket, and Nick nods. “Do you have somewhere for me to work?” he asks.

“Agent Romanoff, could you show Dr. Banner to his laboratory, please,” Nick asks and Agent Romanoff walks towards them.

“You're gonna love it, Doc. We got all the toys,” she says, passing by the Doctor and they disappear through the same door they all got in.

Steve watches them go and looks again at the computer screen. ‘Agent Barton’, the screen provides, and Steve can also remember him from the debrief package.

The same debrief package that had information on Howard’s son, who went by ‘Tony’ and who happened to be the world’s most famous superhero.

“Sir,” Steve calls Nick, who was facing the screens on his spot, at the center of the room. “I was wondering what my mission is?”

“Oh, right, we’ll just wait ‘til Doctor Banner can help us track our guy before we need you to step into the action,” Nick tells him.

Steve bites his lower lip and looks at the computer again. “Alright,” he mutters. “But I was also wondering about the debrief package you left me, there were – I mean the profiles there, I notice there’s a couple of people missing here,” Steve trails, taking one hand out of his pockets to point out at the computer, where the file of the familiar agent is still open.

Nick follows what Steve’s pointing out and sighs. “Yeah, that— that’s Agent Barton. He…got compromised short after Loki’s arrival. He found a way to twist Barton’s mind into working for him; then Barton disconnected his line, we can’t track him,” Nick explains, looking somber.

Steve looks down and rolls his tongue down his lips. “And, uh—,” Steve clears his throat. “Stark?” he asks, trying to seem nonchalant. Like asking about him isn’t nearly killing him of expectation.

“Iron Man? Yeah, I wouldn’t count on him making an appearance soon,” Coulson says, jokingly, as he crosses his arms. “He wasn’t particularly interested in the whole thing when I arrived, still seems butthurt about the fact he wasn’t allowed to join the Initiative,” he says, looking at Nick, cracking a laugh.

Steve only frowns in return. “The what?” Steve asks and Nick takes a step closer to him, still looking down.

“That was an old S.H.I.E.L.D. project that I had that—never saw the light; you don’t need to worry about it. As for Iron Man,” Nick says, taking a deep breath. “Tony’s—kinda of a complicated man, hard to read at first sight, but deep down I know his heart’s in the right place, and I know that when I call him, ‘cause I need him to fight, he’ll be there,” Nick explains. “I know you must be eager to meet him but the time isn’t right yet,” he adds, and Steve fakes a deeper frown.

“I—uh, I don’t, I mean, I’m not eager—,”

“It’s alright, Captain. We don’t judge here,” Nick says, opening his hand at Steve, as if to calm him down, and Steve just sighs and closes his mouth. Nick goes back to his computers and Steve just stands there, resigned.

An hour later he takes off his jacket and puts it on a chair, still watching other people work and go on about their days.

“Captain?” Coulson calls him, standing next to Steve, shoulder to shoulder. “I wanted to ask a favor, since you don’t seem busy right now,” he says and Steve turns his head, quirking one eyebrow. “I have these special cards, uhm—,”

“Trading cards?” Steve asks him, a small smile and Coulson stares at him for a bit, in on it.

“Natasha told you,” Coulson says, in an asking tone, and Steve gives him a sympathetic smile.

“She mentioned you were quite proud about it,” Steve replies.

“Well, I’m not ashamed, either,” Coulson adds, but he looks annoyed. “Anyways, I was wondering if you could sign them for me,” he asks, going back to his friendly voice. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” he adds.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve replies and then continues standing, waiting.

Coulson shifts between looking at him and looking ahead. “It’s a vintage set,” he adds, after a short minute of silence. “It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint, slight foxing around the edges, but—,”

“We got a hit. Sixty seven percent match,” another agent interrupts Coulson’s story. “Wait, cross match, seventy nine percent,” he adds, after taking another look at his computer.

“Location?” Coulson asks, walking towards him.

“Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Königstrasse. He's not exactly hiding,” the agent supplies. In the screen, Steve can see the man they’re after. 

“Captain,” Nick calls him and Steve turns to him. “You're up,” he instructs.

It’s the first time since Steve’s waken up that he doesn’t feel anxious. Because what comes next, he’s familiar with.

Fighting he knows.

\--

_Stuttgart, 2012_

Steve is lying splat on the floor when _he_ falls from the sky, in all his shiny glory, to the sound of loud music coming from the jet, and blasts Loki off his feet.

From the floor, Steve stares at his red-and-gold form. He feels out of breath but he’s not sure if it’s from the fight he just had with the horned-man or if it’s something else.

Like the fact that this is it.

This is him.

His soulmate.

“Make your move, Reindeer Games,” Iron Man warns Loki, pointing his flashy guns at him.

Steve stands up and tells his heart to _behave_ as he picks up his shield and stands next to him, turning his full attention towards Loki, sitting on the stairs on the floor. His hands up defensively as he whooshes his armor away, surrendering.

“Good move,” Iron Man says, in a cheerful note then takes all his guns away and lowers his arms to his sides.

The breezy quietness makes Steve notice his wrist is itching.

No other thing to focus on now. Nowhere to run.

“Mister Stark,” Steve says, because he can’t help it.

“Captain,” Iron Man replies in his metallic voice, but it does something to Steve’s insides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is the last chapter I post before we all see Endgame, I find it a little poetic that it ends at the beginning of everything. 
> 
> Here's to hoping I can publish one more chapter before April 26th and here's to hoping Steve and Tony make it in that godforsaken movie.


End file.
